


The Origins of Darwin

by AltheaG



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Death Eaters, F/M, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter AU, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Malfoy, snape - Freeform, voldemort - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 97,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltheaG/pseuds/AltheaG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://tinypic.com?ref=23v75y"></a><br/><img/><br/>Image by Glow @ the-dark-arts.net</p><p>It all started with that stupid brown envelope.</p><p>As an infant, Darwin Smith was found alone in an apartment, his mother brutally murdered. Darwin spent much of his early childhood going from one abusive foster home to the next, where he experienced every possible torment. Finally, at age 11, Darwin had enough, and he ran off, taking with him just a few personal belongings, including the brown envelope.</p><p>And then, after a long and lonely night in a dark alley, Darwin awoke to find an owl at his side, holding a letter in its claws. His life was never the same again, and as he learned the identity of his mother and father, Darwin would come to face his very worst nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Very Rough Start

There are days when I wish I had never opened that brown envelope. On my nicer days, though, I know I had to face the truth. Either way, what’s done is done, and now I have to live with the consequences.

I have had three lives, so far anyway. My first life was probably the worst. I was this kid shuttled about from home to home like some sort of quaffle, never landing, always batted and beaten and tossed away. My second life was the best—it was my second chance, my resurrection of sorts, my salvation. I look back so fondly on those halcyon days as a student at good old Hogwarts. Gods how I wish I could be back there again!

Then there’s now, with the full knowledge of what I am, with the full history of my parentage. I know it’s not my fault. After all, no one can really help who their parents are. You’d think that by now, magic would have progressed far enough for a witch or wizard to determine their bloodline. I guess no one can be so lucky.

So, I just have to live with it.

I guess I should explain myself a little. My name is Darwin Smith, and I’m a wizard. OK, so that sounds a bit formal, so sue me. I’ve grown to love the little formalities of life. They keep things so civilised, so manageable. My life wasn’t always like that. In fact, if you knew my origins, you might be horrified.

See, it wasn’t until I was 16 years old that I knew the identity of my parents. Before that, my origins were a mystery to me. All I knew was that my mother died three weeks after my birth and that I was discovered alone and soiled in an abandoned flat and taken by the muggle authorities into the local Looking After Scheme. You’d think that as an infant, and as a male infant, I’d have been adopted by some willing family right away. But no, it didn’t quite pan out that way. I was rather sickly as an infant—I was very colicky, and apparently I had a terrible case of jaundice for a short while. I guess I wasn’t exactly the best candidate for infant adoption. Also, I’m told, I had a rather nasty disposition as an infant—I bawled all the time, and no new parent wants that.

The first home I went to was OK—until the mother shook me so hard I got a concussion. So I was removed from there and sent to another home. In this one, I was subjected to a series of days in which I was entirely alone in the flat—mind you, I was only a year old. So then I was placed in another home. That one was the best, and I was there for three years. The problem came when the family, the Smiths, wanted to adopt me officially—the father, Jake, had just lost his job and his wife, Shelly, was disabled and couldn’t work outside the home. So instead of being adopted, I was removed from the one loving home I had ever known.

They were such a kind, sweet couple. Jake was young, only about 26, and Shelly was just a little younger. Maybe they were too young. I found out later that Shelly couldn’t have children because of her disability, so their only chance of having a family at all was adoption. So when I was taken away, their hearts were broken. Mine was, too. Even though I was only 4 years old, I can still remember them. I had my own room, painted blue and white and yellow, with little duckies all over the place. I had a little fire truck and Jake wanted to teach me to play Cricket when I got a bit older. I remember these amazing puddings Shelly would make after dinner—they were pretty simple, but for a little guy like me, they tasted like heaven.

My next foster mum never made puddings. She was too drunk. If I cried, I got hit. If I smiled, I got hit. If I spoke or asked a question, well, you get the idea. Then she got a boyfriend. I remember hearing them at night, going at it in her crummy bedroom. You’d think that having a boyfriend would make her a nicer woman, but instead, it had the opposite effect. She got meaner. Much meaner. One likely reason was that her boyfriend was just as mean as she was. And he was bigger. I was a tall kid for my age—at age 5, I looked like an 8 year-old. So the boyfriend took special pleasure in reminding me that I wasn’t as big or as great as he supposed I thought I was. I got removed from that home only after my fourth visit to the emergency room with a broken nose and a fractured arm. Big deal.

So then I got put into a group home. Oh yeah, and I had to see a therapist. What a joke. What hypocrisy! They were the ones who put me into these horrible places in the first place, and now they had to make sure I didn’t go crazy from all the crap that got thrown at me! Unbelievable. But I cooperated. After all, I was only 6, so it wasn’t like I had much choice. I got some schooling, and for the most part, I was pretty content in the group home. I used to pretend that I was at some posh boarding school, and that the other boys and girls around me were dukes and countesses and socialites. I was always a big dreamer.

It was around that time that my magical abilities started to show up. The first spell I can remember casting was on a toy soldier, one of those little plastic things. I had been playing with it on my bed, but now it was time to go to sleep, and the house mother took my toys away and put them on a high shelf, where I couldn’t reach them. But I wasn’t at all tired, and I still wanted to play. So after lights were out and my three roommates were snoring away in deep slumber, I reached out my hands toward the shelves, wishing and hoping. The next thing I knew, to my astonishment, the little toy soldier flew off the shelf and right into my waiting hands.

It’s a really cool thing as a little kid to find out you have magic powers. The childish imagination thinks it has magic anyway, so when I figured out that I really did have powers, I had a lot of fun. I remember entertaining the other kids in the home by making things fly or changing the colours of our toys. I changed the colour of the house cat from grey to pink, then to green with orange spots, and then back to grey. The adults thought I was a troublemaker. We kids decided to keep my powers a secret from the adults because we all feared that if I was discovered, we wouldn’t be allowed to play magic any more. They took away so many things from us that were fun, and we didn’t want to lose our magical playtime.

Dina was the one who ruined it. I had animated the toy soldiers and they were having a fine battle, complete with gunfire and shouting. She told the house mother later that day. I was called into the therapist’s office the next day and told that I must not put wild ideas into the other children’s minds. I was called disruptive and attention-seeking. A week later, I was placed in a new home.

By then, I was 8, and I was getting to be pretty cagey. I had been knocked about enough to know how to protect myself, or so I thought. I wasn’t ready for what was in store for me. It was a new kind of abuse, one that no one could bear to talk about because it was so humiliating and horrible. I was in the new home for six months when it happened the first time. The wife was away at the store, and it was just her half-drunk husband watching me at home. Afterward, he said that if I told her, he would make me regret it. So I kept quiet. It wasn’t like I had been beaten, so I couldn’t just go to the emergency room and see a doctor. And then, it didn’t happen again for a very long time. Seven months passed, and I had almost put the first incident out of my mind. I was doing well at school, and I had made several good friends for the first time in my life. Things were looking up.

It happened again the day after my ninth birthday. Again, more threats, more intimidation. I continued to take it seriously, and remained terrified of saying anything to anyone. Again, there were no wounds, no broken bones or bruises, nothing to send me to hospital. Now mind you, it didn’t progress to the level you might think. I was at least spared the very worst of that sort of abuse. Still, what he did to me was bad enough, and by the third time it happened, I started to worry that it might progress to that more serious degree. So, I decided to gather up my courage and tell the wife. Her response shocked me, and the violence she used against me was something I couldn’t understand.

And then she sent me back to the group home. No report was ever made of what her husband did to me. I was considered a liar, a home-wrecker and a menace. After almost 2 years in that home, and after I had been treated relatively well, all she had to say for me were words of hatred and venom. I couldn’t believe it. That hurt me almost more than anything the husband had done to me. It really shook me up, and I can remember feeling like a worthless slug for a long time. Back in the group home, I was reunited with some of my old friends, which was good. Many had been through similar circumstances as I had been, and we sometimes traded war stories about what we had to endure. But I never mentioned what the husband had done. It was too shameful, and I almost thought it was my fault. I know that sounds crazy, but I was just a kid.

A few months later, I was sent to yet another home. My hopes weren’t too high. I expected the very worst, and I wasn’t disappointed. The husband of the house was into some criminal activity, and he and his wife would take in kids like me to make a few extra quid and to pass themselves off as legitimate. He was into all sorts of fraud, and she was just as bad. Both of them had pretty nasty personalities, though whenever the person from the Scheme came to visit and inspect, they were all smiles and sweetness. But after they left, the terror began. I was usually locked in my room for hours at a time, not to torture me but rather, to keep me out of their way. They fed me and let me go to school, but at home, I was mostly kept hidden away. If I ever asked for anything or asked a question or made any sort of noise they didn’t like, I got punished in severe and violent ways.

And one day, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I had just gotten in trouble for using their telephone to call a friend about homework, and I was nursing my wounds in my room. But I needed to use the bathroom. The problem was that they had guests over—fellow grifters probably. Anyway, I went out of my room and tried to get to the bathroom unseen, but one of their friends saw me and called me over. The husband and wife looked furious at me, and I knew exactly what I had in store for me when the guests left. And sure enough, they started in on me, more harshly than ever before. I was terribly battered, but they refused to take me to the emergency room—I guess that sort of made sense. After all, they were a couple of criminals, so the last thing they needed was to be exposed by an abused child. So I had to suffer alone.

My magical abilities came into play, to my complete astonishment, later that night. I lay on my bed, in a lot of pain from what they did to me, I wished so much that I could just disappear, take my stuff and go anywhere. It didn’t matter. The ocean, the mountains, Trafalgar Square, wherever. The next thing I knew, I was no longer in my room, but in Hyde Park, on a bench under a soft light. It was as though a gentle hand had lifted me up, and carried me, albeit swiftly, to a safe place. Amazingly, my few belongings were at my side in my very old suitcase. I took stock of everything I had: a few socks, some clothes, my toothbrush and toothpaste, a comb, a funny little key and a brown envelope. The envelope was something I knew was important but I never touched it. Inside it was my whole personal history—my birth certificate, and other important documents about my identity. These were things I didn’t want to know, not yet anyway.

You can imagine how awful I must have looked. I mean, I had just taken a pretty bad thrashing, and I was hurt. I should have gone to the emergency room and gotten treatment, but I balked at that. If I went, the police would have been called, and then I would have been straight back into care. That was the last thing I wanted. I was done with it. I knew what would happen. It would be back to the group home, and then back to another foster home only to get hurt again. No more. I had to take control of my life and preserve myself as best I could.

A police car passed by. I reacted instantly, desperate to find a dark corner in which to hide. No one could see me, hear me, know I was around. I had to get out of the park before the sun came up. I grabbed my suitcase and ran for it, desperate to find some place, any place to stay the rest of the night. I forgot how big Hyde Park was. I forgot how many places I could go, just in the park itself. I’d be OK there, at least until the sun rose and the morning joggers started arriving. I used my suitcase as a pillow and curled up behind a tall privet.

As the sun rose, I rose, too. I managed to get a few hours of sleep, which was a relief. But now it was time to think of more immediate concerns—food. I had none, and to make things worse, I had no money. I also had a bruised face, so it wasn’t like I could just ask people openly for something to eat. If anyone saw me, I was sure they would call the police. What I had to do next is something I have never told anyone before—not Padma, not Hermione, not even Neville, and he’s my best friend. As night fell, I left the park and found a series of restaurants nearby. They were pretty posh, so I kept out of sight. I ducked into the alley behind them, where the rubbish was. And yes, I picked through it, ready to eat almost anything. I managed to find a few food parcels that looked fairly decent. I went to one dumpster, then another, and another, finding enough partially eaten food to fill my small suitcase.

I remember how it felt to eat that stuff. I remember the degradation I felt, the utter shame, and I found myself shutting my raging mind against the myriad of questions that threatened to assault my fragile spirit. I ate without looking at the food much, trying to forget where it came from. This went on for a solid two weeks. I had a little system: I found shelter in an empty building, where I could sleep undisturbed. My wounds healed pretty quickly, and before long, I was somewhat presentable. Of course, my clothes by then were filthy, and I smelled pretty bad. But I felt courageous enough to try and make a change in my situation. The one thing I really needed was money.

There are many ways of making money on the street, but when you’re an 11 year-old boy, the options are few. All I know is that there were two things I was not willing to do: drug dealing and prostitution. To be legit took a risk, but it was really my only choice. So I walked and walked, finally ending up in this diner. The owner, Walter, took one look at me and felt sorry for me.

“Hey, kid,” he said, “you OK?”

“I was wondering, sir, if you might be able to give me a job.” OK, I know I sounded pathetic.

“You’re pretty young to have a job. How old are you? Thirteen?”

Thankfully, my height worked in my favour. So I lied. “Fourteen, sir. You don’t have to pay me much. I can run errands for you, do odd jobs around here. I can sweep floors or wash dishes.”

And so I became a sort of gofer for Walter. The job didn’t pay much—he gave me fifty pounds a week, under the table of course. For me, it was a small fortune. Plus, the job had its perks. Walter gave me all my meals for free, which left me with a lot of money for me to spend on better clothes and new shoes and even a new coat that I bought at a charity shop. I bought a couple of books, a few comics, some sweets and a deck of cards. I played a lot of solitaire with those cards. Walter offered to let me stay at his flat, but I told him I had a place. I sort of did. The empty building.

That soon came to an end, unfortunately. One night I arrived “home,” only to find the entire place boarded up and slated for condemnation. Another stumbling block. The neighbourhood was pretty posh, so it wasn’t like there was a lot of vacant space around. So I had to go out of the neighbourhood to find something, anything. As each night passed, I got more desperate. There were so many strange people about, and as eleven year-old boy, I was a prime target for perverts. I needed shelter, fast.

One night in early August, I found a little place to sleep in an alley next to this dodgy place called The Leaky Cauldron. It was a little far from Walter’s diner, but the best part about it was that it was really safe from strange and dangerous people. I spread out my coat like a blanket behind a stack of crates, and for the first time in a while, had a good night’s sleep. This was it, at least while the weather was good. I slept there for a solid week, with no problems, no disruptions. The money I earned from Walter was safely stowed in my suitcase, which I still used as a pillow.

And then the strangest thing happened. It changed the entire course of my life.

I woke up one morning, after having dreamt of chocolate frogs and magic castles, only to find a brown owl perched on a crate near my feet. In its beak was a cream-coloured envelope with green ink. I saw my name on it, in fact. It read:

_Mr. Darwin Smith_  
3rd Crate  
Alley West of the Leaky Cauldron  
London 

That was strange. I took the envelope out of the owl’s beak and stared at it for a moment. Temptation overwhelmed me, and I tore into it. Dear Mr. Smith, blah blah blah you are admitted to what? Hogwarts School of what? Witchcraft and Wizardry? What? Was this some sort of joke? I read on. Please inform us, la dee da, la dee da, and here is a list of school supplies. Potions supplies. Robes. Pointy hat. This was too much. I began to wonder if this was some sort of prank, a way of getting me to return to the group home. Well they weren’t going to get me. I tore up the whole thing. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s chump.

I grabbed my suitcase and my coat and took a walk, past The Leaky Cauldron. Wait. The Leaky Cauldron? Wasn’t that in the note? Again, temptation overwhelmed me, so I opened the door and pushed my way inside. It was the dodgiest place I had ever seen before. There were a few people there, drinking coffee (I supposed) and eating breakfast. They were strangely dressed in robes and pointy hats. For a moment, I thought I must have happened in on a fancy dress party or something. People were coming in and out of the place, out the back door. I was really curious about all this, so I followed a tall woman in bright purple robes and a blue pointy hat.

We went through a brick wall—well, not really, but when she tapped it, it opened up like a sliding glass door. And then I stepped into the weirdest shopping district I had ever seen. For a moment I thought I had gone completely mental. I passed all these strange places that sold potions supplies and owls and wizard robes. There was even a magic wand shop. That was a place any 11 year-old boy wanted to see, so in I went. The proprietor, a gentleman called Ollivander, gave me a very strange and sort of wise look.

“You for Hogwarts, boy?” he asked.

I blushed, remembering that I had torn up the letter. “Uh, no. I just wanted to see the wands.”

He approached me, a queer look on his old face. “You sure you’re not for Hogwarts, boy? What’s your name?”

“Smith. Darwin Smith.”

“You’re not a muggle, are you?”

Muggle? “Muggle?”

Now he was cross. “Look here, boy, how did you get in here?”

“The letter said…”

He raised his eyebrows. “So you did get a letter! Did you turn down the admission?”

All I could do was stammer stupidly. “I…uh…I sort of…tore it up.”

“Tore it up?”

“I thought it was a prank!” I shouted.

“Good gods!” Ollivander said. “OK, looky here, boy. Do you want to go to Hogwarts or not?”

“You mean it’s a real school? A school of magic?”

“Of course it’s real! It’s been around for a thousand years! So, are you going to go?”

Why the bloody heck not? I shrugged and nodded my head. Ollivander took out a sheet of paper and scribbled a few lines on it, then rolled it up and called for his owl, which swooped down and landed on the counter. He tied the note to the owl’s leg and sent it off.

“Right,” Ollivander said. “I’ve written to Dumbledore for you, boy. Now they know you’re coming. Now then, about your wand. How many Galleons are you willing to spend?”

“Galleons?”

“We wizards have our own currency.”

Darn. All I had was British pounds. “What do I do? Do you take British pounds?”

“You’ll need to go to Gringotts. It’s too bad you don’t have an account there. Of course, you’d need a special key for that.”

I fiddled with the key on the string around my neck. I pulled it out and showed it to Ollivander. “I wish this one were a special key.”

“Let me see that,” he said, eyeing my key. He nodded his head. “Yes yes yes, that’s a Gringott’s key.”

That was unexpected. “It is? How do I use it?”

“Just go to the bank, tell them your vault number and show them your key. See? The number 702 is stamped on the key. That’s your vault number.”

I had a vault in a wizard bank? What was going on? What could all this mean? Just who were my parents anyway?

You should have seen the vault. It was absolutely stuffed, and I mean STUFFED, with gold, from floor to ceiling. There was so much gold inside that I could barely fit myself in the large room. I had no idea what I would need, so I filled a good-sized bag with gold. Before I left my vault, I also left my suitcase and the unopened brown envelope, as well as my coat, in the vault. If I was a real wizard, I figured I wouldn’t need those things any more. Of course, I did keep £250 in my pocket. After all, I had to eat and sleep somewhere for a couple of weeks before my train left for school.

Where to sleep? That could pose a few problems. If I was as rich as I thought I was, sleeping in an alley wouldn’t really be necessary any more. I returned to The Leaky Cauldron and reserved a room for myself, paying the entire rent up front. After I settled in to my room, I went shopping. Stupidly, I had torn up the supply list along with the letter, so I had no idea what I needed for school. I returned to the wand store and bought a great, yew wand with a dragon heartstring core and a silver handle. While I waited, a family with a young girl in tow came in, to buy her a wand. They were called the Grangers. The girl was very friendly.

“I’m Hermione Granger,” she said, shaking my hand. “What’s your name?”

“Darwin Smith. Are you from London?”

“I live in Chelsea. You?”

What would I tell her? The alley out back? The empty building in Bayswater? The group home?

“I’ve moved around a lot, actually. But I’ve always been in London. Say, Hermione, maybe you could help me. See, I lost the list of school supplies. Could I possibly shop with you and your family today?”

“Sure, if it’s OK with Mummy and Daddy.”

It was super duper OK with Mummy and Daddy. The Grangers were brilliant. Kind, generous, funny, very organised. They helped me with everything: books, robes, potions supplies, cauldrons. By the time I returned to my room at The Leaky Cauldron, I was exhausted. I also found an envelope on the dresser. I opened it, and inside was a ticket for the train—Platform 9¾. I had already planned to see the Grangers the following day for lunch—Mrs. Granger and Hermione wanted to take me to Harrod’s to do a bit of shopping. I figured I could get some new clothes so I could look halfway respectable on the train.

This was my chance, my new life, my time to start over. I could put the horrors of the past behind me entirely and embrace a new and better Darwin Smith. I couldn’t wait for the school year to begin.


	2. Trains, Brains, and Bullies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _My grades were terrible. It wasn’t that I didn’t try, because I did. But none of my grades got above an E. I mostly got A’s and E’s, and never any O’s. The other Ravenclaws started to murmur among themselves—what’s up with the big First-Year? Was he correctly placed? Shouldn’t he be in Hufflepuff? What began as murmuring turned into jibes at my expense. No one ever bullied me or anything—no Ravenclaws did anyway—but the jibes turned into little barbs and jokes. I felt stupid all over again, and it made me angry._
> 
> _Things only got worse when the Slytherins found out about my deficiencies._

They say that train rides symbolise journey, transition from one point of life to the next. For me, that couldn’t be more true. As I sat in the compartment of the Hogwarts Express and watch the landscape pass me by, all I could think of was that it was all over, all the pain and shame and horror of my early years, just like that, with a flick of the wand. I made tons of friends on the train. Along with Hermione, who I already knew, I met Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan, Justin Fitch-Fletchley, Susan Bones, Ernie MacMillan, Hannah Abbot, Parvati Patil—and of course, Padma.

The first time I saw Padma, I thought she was the most vain, supercilious girl I had ever met. Then again, she thought I was an oafish-looking clod. Sometimes, first impressions aren’t always so accurate. I laughed and played, made chocolate frogs float around the compartment, and taught my new friends how to play Spite and Malice, my favourite card game. There were murmurings of Harry Potter being on board, and in fact, Hermione rushed in to tell us all that she had just met him and that he was already friends with a Weasley and that the Weasleys were supposed to be a solid, respectable wizard family. Then, she proceeded to tell us that Harry’s father and mother had been in Gryffindor, and wouldn’t it be wonderful to be in Gryffindor, too.

Some agreed, but not me.

“I want to be in Hufflepuff,” I said resolutely.

“Why?” Padma said, clearly mortified.

“What’s wrong with Hufflepuff?” Susan asked. “My whole family’s been in Hufflepuff for years!”

“Ravenclaw’s the best,” Padma said. Her twin nodded in agreement.

“Well I don’t care where I’m put,” Justin said. “I just don’t want to be in Slytherin.”

That brought murmurings of agreement.

“I’ve heard stories about that place,” Padma said. “They say that You-Know-Who and all his followers are in Slytherin.”

“Yeah,” Ernie said, “and a lot of their kids are in our year now.”

Susan raised her eyebrows in alarm. “Are you serious? Who?”

“Let’s see,” Ernie began. “There’s a Goyle, a Parkinson, a Crabbe and, worst of all, a Malfoy.”

“Oh yeah!” Parvati said. “I think I saw him on the platform. The blond boy, mean, pinched face? Looks like a real prat.”

“My mum says that whole family is evil,” Susan said. “The father supposedly killed a lot of people before You-Know-Who was defeated. He’s horrible, and she says he’s raised the boy to be just the same. Being a Malfoy is being cursed.”

“Well chances are he’ll end up in Slytherin,” Hermione said. “Hopefully.”

Conversation turned to a slightly more uncomfortable subject. We all were supposed to say where we were from, and so, I found myself once again in a tight spot, just like I had been with Hermione and her mother. They were from all over England—many from small towns I had never heard of before. In fact, only Hermione, Justin and I were from London. Fortunately, I wasn’t asked much to elaborate, and so I got to keep silent about the rest. I worried silently, however, just how long I could keep that up.

My first sight of Hogwarts is something I will never forget. I think my heart actually skipped a beat, and in truth, I thought I might actually burst into joyful tears at the sight of the spectacular, glittering castle in the distance. Fairy tales had to be real. As I got off the train at Hogsmeade, I stepped out of the dark, dreary adult world into the dreamy pages of a fantasy land. I never wanted to return. Imagine yourself in my slightly holey shoes, floating across the smooth, ebony lake that night, guided by a half-giant, greeted by witches and wizards in flowing robes. I had gone from having nothing in the world—no parents, no money, no love, no moment to be a boy—and now, everything I craved as a needy child was within my hungry grasp.

I could feel my knees wobbling with nervous excitement during the Sorting Ceremony that night. Susan got Hufflepuff, as expected, Justin, too. Hermione and Neville got Gryffindor, as did Harry and Seamus and that Weasley boy. Padma got Ravenclaw, and to their astonishment, Parvati got Gryffindor. That Malfoy boy got Slytherin, as did all his oversized cronies. I wanted Hufflepuff so badly. I wanted peace and kindness and no pressure to be the best at anything.

I got Ravenclaw.

I am not a stupid person at all. In fact, I’m pretty darn clever. But I wasn’t in school much growing up, so I never really learned how to discipline myself or how to study. Therefore, being in Ravenclaw became a real problem. The lessons were much different from muggle lessons—no reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, it was Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic and so forth. This was completely strange to me, and it took me a long time to get adjusted to the rigour of the lessons and the high demands of the teachers. Transfiguration was the absolute hardest. Potions was easiest. To me, studying Potions was like studying cookery. If Professor Snape ever heard me say that, of course, he’d really give me a thrashing.

My grades were terrible. Well, they weren’t terrible, but they weren’t great, especially by Ravenclaw standards. Ravenclaw students enjoy the reputation of being clever, high achieving and academically oriented. It wasn’t that I didn’t try, because I did. I really did. But none of my grades got above an E. I mostly got A’s and E’s, and never any O’s. The other Ravenclaws started to murmur among themselves—what’s up with the big First-Year? Was he correctly placed? Shouldn’t he be in Hufflepuff? What began as murmuring turned into jibes at my expense. No one ever bullied me or anything—no Ravenclaws did anyway—but the jibes turned into little barbs and jokes. I felt stupid all over again, and it made me angry.

Things only got worse when the Slytherins found out about my deficiencies. Mind you, most of them were pretty terrible students. Greg Goyle never got above an A on anything, and most of his grades were P’s and D’s. But it was OK because he wasn’t a Ravenclaw. Draco Malfoy, the snake, took delight in baiting me whenever he could. Along with Hermione, he was at the top of the class. He’d make these stupid faces and grunting noises whenever I walked past. For the most part I managed to ignore him. After all, I had been beaten and tortured by greater menaces than him. But one day, he insulted Neville Longbottom.

Neville and I were best friends starting our very first month of classes. Both of us wondered why we were in our respective houses, and both of us would much rather have been in Hufflepuff. Our mutual frustration forged a bond between us, in spite of our great differences. He’s all softness and meekness, and I’m more hard-edged and coarse. He was raised with privilege, and I…well, you already know about that.

The way I met Neville was quite a story. Well, we had already met on the train, but as we were placed in different houses and didn’t have any classes together, we never got to know each other. I always like to say that Draco Malfoy brought us together. See, Malfoy had already earned himself the reputation for being a first class tosser. He had managed to get on the wrong side of just about everyone who wasn’t in Slytherin, but no one seemed to be able to manage him or put him down. Even the Prefects were at a loss as to what to do with him. After all, he had a powerful, influential and really scary father who seemed to have the good opinion of the Minister of Magic. Who could challenge power like that?

Just a homeless, orphaned, battered kid like me.

It all began so innocently. Lunchtime, late September, an all-around crappy day. I was making my way out of the Great Hall when I saw Draco Malfoy and his cronies cornering Neville, making all sorts of jokes at his expense. I saw the terror in Neville’s face, and I knew how he felt. I had been in his place before, and no one had been there to get me out of it. So…

“Hey,” I said, approaching Malfoy. “What’s your problem?”

He turned to look at me with that usual, arrogant way of his. I wanted to punch his face inside out.

“Keep moving, mudblood,” he sneered at me.

OK, I didn’t know what mudblood meant, but I figured it wasn’t a compliment. I refused to move on.

“I think you need to apologise to Longbottom here,” I said officiously.

Malfoy laughed. “And YOU are?”

I sneered. “Please! And YOU are?”

Then he advanced on me. At the same time, I advanced on him.

“And why should I apologise to this oaf?” he said pompously.

“Because you’re a foul-mouthed prat and a momma’s boy, that’s why.”

A Gryffindor girl giggled.

Now he and I were standing nose-to-nose, his grey eyes looking into my own grey eyes. He was nearly snarling, and I could see his nostrils flare just a little. Malfoy reminded me of every bully I had ever encountered in my life, and I vowed to spare Neville the same type of torment I had suffered.

“I SAID, keep moving, mudblood,” Malfoy repeated. And then, he shoved me.

I shoved back. He shoved again. I shoved back. He and I were the same height and had the same build, so I felt fairly confident about shoving him as much as I wanted. He shoved again, hard. I stumbled back a bit.

“You shove me again, and you’ll be sorry,” I said severely.

And then he did it—he drew back his arm and punched me right in the face. Mind you, I had been punched by much older men than Draco Malfoy, so the blow didn’t really phase me too much. But it gave me an excuse to fire back which I did, hard. I hit him right on his pointy nose and somewhat rejoiced as I felt it break. I hit him again and again, in the face, the stomach, the arms. I wrestled him to the ground and kept swinging, hard as I could. I wanted to cause him as much pain as my 11 year-old fists could manage. I hit and hit and hit, and if four Prefects hadn’t pulled me off of Malfoy, I might have actually killed him.

I was in serious trouble. But let me digress for a moment…

Just a week before all this happened, I had almost determined to leave Hogwarts forever. Everyone around me seemed so much better, in terms of family, background, grades, everything. I couldn't help making the comparison, and before long, it completely distracted me from the progress I was trying to make.

In Potions, Professor Snape had set us an essay to write on Monk’s Hood oil and its uses. I laboured and laboured over it, stayed up late into the night to get it done. I wasn't proud of what I handed in, but I hoped for at least my usual A. No such luck. I got a P. A P! That was it. I was clearly out of my league at this place. I just didn’t get it, or so I felt. As the rest of the class packed up their things and made their way to lunch, I remained frozen, staring at the P on my essay. This was too much. It was all a terrible mistake, and the best thing for me to do now was to pack up my few belongings and go back to the streets of London.

“Mr. Smith?” Professor Snape hissed at me. Gods, I hated him just then. I continued to sit there, paralysed with anger and frustration. “Mr. Smith, come here,” he said, his voice now tinged with irritation. He eyed me harshly. I felt about two feet tall.

I looked up in total fright. All of a sudden, I saw him coming at me, and I automatically slipped into my normal reaction to that tone of voice. I trembled like a leaf, waiting for the inevitable. Snape looked at me first with fury, but then with concern. His voice changed, softened.

“Mr. Smith?” he said, alarmed. “Goodness, you’re shaking! What's the matter with you?”

I tried to stop, but couldn’t. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I determined not to cry in front of him. Professor Snape was one of those people who scared the life out of me on a good day. I did not want to look weak in front of him, but before I knew it, tears were spilling out of my eyes. He stood over me, which frightened me all the more. I reacted instinctively, recoiling at his approach.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Smith,” he said, trying to be reassuring. It didn’t work. “Smith?”

“Sir?” I replied, my voice so pathetic it humiliated me.

Snape sat down next to me. He looked astonishingly concerned about me all of a sudden, something I had never expected from him. Normally, he was venomous and harsh, the last person in the world one would ever expect to be sympathetic. And yet, here he was, patient and almost kind. Almost. He looked right into my eyes, which gave me the odd feeling of being x-rayed.

“Look, Smith, if you think I want to hurt you, you are quite mistaken.”

I remained paralysed, not knowing what to say.

“Smith, this is a completely safe place,” Snape said to me pointedly. “There is no adult here who would ever dream of hurting you or injuring you in any way. We might occasionally be angry with you, especially when you produce thick-headed, substandard classwork, but no one would ever harm you in any way. Do you believe me?”

I wanted to believe. I found myself nodding, in spite of my doubts.

“Whatever may have happened to you in the past, it will not happen to you here. Is that clear?"

I nodded, wiping my face dry in total embarrassment. "Yes, sir," I managed to croak.

"Alright, then. Go on to lunch.”

So I went. It was an important moment for me. I fully expected a good thrashing from Professor Snape just then, and when he offered his compassion, all I could feel was relief and gratitude. I tried to believe his words, but he also left me wondering just how much the staff knew about my background. How much did the students know? I hadn’t said a thing about it. In fact, I did my best to conceal my shameful origins from everyone.

Fast forward to the fight with Malfoy.

I had blown it. I knew it. They would ask me to leave Hogwarts forever. I felt sure I was now doomed to return to my peripatetic old life on the street. Draco was pretty badly hurt, though Madame Pomfrey managed to heal him up in no time. Still, Malfoy's parents were called, and a report was made to them on what happened. I was summoned to Professor Dumbledore's office to face them all, though Mrs. Malfoy stayed behind in the Hospital Wing to fuss over her injured son. Also present in Dumbledore’s office were Professor Flitwick, my house master, and Professor Snape, Malfoy's house master. I was the only student in the room. With all these frowning adults around, I knew this could go very badly for me.

Lucius Malfoy took one look at me and said, "So this is what beat up my son?"

I hated Lucius Malfoy from the moment he laid his cold, grey eyes on me. He reminded me too much of the last foster father I stayed with, the one who beat me so terribly. I could see Draco's face in his own, pompous gaze, and I wanted to beat him up, too.

"Now then, Dumbledore, what does this boy have to say for himself? I believe he owes me an apology," Lucius said stiffly. If he thought he could scare me, he was deluded. I stood strong.

I laughed. "Apologise? To you? For what?"

Lucius turned his attention to Dumbledore. "Where are the boy's parents? They should be ashamed of raising such a hellion."

I audibly snorted at the irony. Dumbledore intervened.

"Mr. Smith's parents are, unfortunately, deceased."

"I see," Lucius said. "I suppose they committed suicide once they realised what a shameful brat they had produced."

Flitwick opened his mouth to speak, but again, Dumbledore intervened.

"Unlike your own son, Lucius, Mr. Smith never enjoyed the experience of knowing his parents."

Lucius looked disgusted. "So now you are in the habit of accepting street urchins to this school? It's bad enough you accept mudbloods..."

"Do NOT use that foul word in my office, Lucius," Dumbledore said angrily. "You know very well that we accept any student who wishes to develop his or her magical abilities." But then, he turned to me. "Mr. Smith, you do owe Mr. Malfoy here an apology."

"For what?" I said defiantly.

"For committing an act of violence against another student," he said plainly.

"But he was bullying Neville!" I protested. "There were two dozen witnesses! Malfoy hit me first!"

"I have learned of the situation, Mr. Smith," Dumbledore said. "However, that did not warrant the level of violence you displayed."

But then Professor Snape, that's right, Professor Snape, intervened.

"Excuse me Headmaster, Professor Flitwick," he said silkily, "but might I speak with Mr. Smith alone for a moment?"

He and I stepped into a side room in Dumbledore's office. Snape looked into my eyes and spoke very directly, very frankly to me.

"You simply must apologise, Smith," he said.

I remained defiant. "Why should I? Malfoy should apologise to me and to Neville!"

"Do you want to stay at this school?"

"Of course!"

"If you don't apologise, Lucius Malfoy will take that as a lack of repentance, and he will deem you a menace to the school, and you will very likely be expelled."

"He can't do that!"

"You broke his son's jaw! He could have you prosecuted! You know well what will happen to you if you get expelled. You'll be placed back in care, you'll be abused again and you'll return to the streets!"

I looked at him, horror-stricken. "How did you know..."

Snape looked me in the eye again, and again, I felt like I was being x-rayed. In fact, I got the distinct impression that he was sort of reading my mind. Either way, he had a point. In spite of Draco Malfoy, I was very happy at Hogwarts, and didn't want to leave. I nodded my head resolutely.

My half-hearted apology seemed to satisfy Lucius Malfoy, but then something strange happened. I had turned my head for a moment, and when I returned my attention to him, he was in the middle of giving me a very troubling look, almost like a look of recognition. It baffled me, since I had never met the man before, but once I was free to go, I let the incident drop.

“Now then, as to the boy’s punishment,” Lucius said. “I expect it to be harsh and strictly enforced.”

“That, my dear Lucius,” Dumbledore said, “is between Mr. Smith, Professors Flitwick and Snape and myself. Student punishments are strictly confidential, which you very well know.”

“I’m sure they are,” Lucius said, trying to mask his irritation. He didn’t succeed so well. “All the same, Dumbledore, I expect…”

“You do not have any need to worry, Lucius,” Dumbledore said reassuringly. “The boy will be dealt with fairly.”

Upon my return to Ravenclaw, I was instantly surrounded by the entire house. Everyone wanted to know what happened, did I get yelled at, did Snape hex me, did Malfoy Senior give me a beating…

I told them the whole story, minus my private conversation with Professor Snape. I chose to keep that between us, for personal reasons. I got the distinct impression that he somehow understood me, knew how I felt. At the time I didn’t know why I felt that way—the answer to that would come later. All I knew as a still daunted First Year was that as scary and cold as he could be, Professor Snape was, in his own way, an ally, someone to whom I could likely turn, just in case. Now mind you, it wasn’t like I was running to him for personal advice all the time, because I wasn’t. In fact, after that particular incident, he returned to his usual icy demeanour. But he had done me a great service all the same. He was the one person who gave me a sliver of hope. It wasn’t much, but it got me through the rest of the year.

Slowly, very slowly, my grades improved. Still no O’s, but more E’s and fewer A’s. Some of that was because of all the time I spent tutoring Neville in his lessons. See, after I so overtly defended him, he really latched on to me. At first I was a bit annoyed. After all, Neville wasn’t exactly the sort I was used to befriending. There was a sort of sweetness about him, a sort of vulnerability that brought out my brotherly, protective side. Since I didn’t have a brother, Neville was just about the next best thing, and before long, we became solid friends.

After the fight with Malfoy, I gained a certain respectability among the students, from the First Years to the Seventh Years. The Prefects always made sure I had a place to sit in the Great Hall, and the Head Girl always had extra chocolate frogs on hand for me. No one but the Slytherins seemed upset about poor Malfoy’s beating. Harry and Ron suddenly wanted to know me, and even older students like Cedric Diggory and Oliver Wood would say hello to me in the hallways. For the first time in my life, I felt like a part of something good. Finally, I belonged.


	3. Facing Facts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I was so good at masking my origins. I hid my shameful past so entirely that I thought no one would ever figure it out. Malfoy knew I was in care, but he didn’t know the very worst details. I vowed that he of all people would never know. I shuddered at the prospect of his discovery. If anyone had ever suspected that I had eaten rubbish, I don’t think I could have remained at Hogwarts. If they had known that I slept in alleys and disused buildings, it would have spelled disaster for me._

I was pretty sure that once Malfoy knew about my background, he would spare no time in broadcasting it all over the castle. I could hear his sneering taunts ringing bitterly in my ears. After all, how could he not find out? Dumbledore had told his father, and I was pretty sure that Lucius Malfoy would be very quick to share that bit of juicy information with his one and only little prince. Who wouldn’t?

To my astonishment, Malfoy didn’t breathe a word of it to anyone. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t. On the other hand, who was I to complain? He was a real prat, but at least he knew his limits, keeping his jeering to the subject of my mediocre grades. That subject was getting old way too fast. Things had to change, but that was up to me. I had to force myself to improve, really learn to focus my mind to my magical studies—it was still too new. It’s hard to erase eleven years of relative academic inactivity. Most of my mental energies had been spent just surviving day to day, and now I had to reorient myself. That was hard. Professor Flitwick and Hermione Granger were really good to me in that regard. I spent many hours in Flitwick’s office that first term, asking all sorts of questions, getting tips and tactics, everything I needed. He was a life-saver.

In time, I had grown to regret what I had done to Malfoy. It wasn’t that I felt sorry for him or had the remotest compassion on the sod. After the whole incident was over, I had a chance to think over my actions, and attempt to put them all into perspective. What really horrified me was that I had allowed myself to sink to the level of the men who had terrorized me so horribly as a boy. I hated them so much for what they had done to me, and when I saw that same fury rising in me against Malfoy, I was humbled. The last thing I wanted was to turn into an abuser. The beating I gave Draco Malfoy was the last one, at least the last unprovoked one.

I spent most of my time just trying to fit in, to become one of the boys around Hogwarts, just another wizard, like any pureblood or half-blood who had been exposed to wizardry all their lives. I strived for my magical abilities to become a natural part of who I was. I didn’t want to associate with anything remotely muggle any more. In fact, I didn’t even want to dress like a muggle or use muggle terminology. I tried to saturate myself into my wizarding atmosphere, doing my utmost to expel the very last vestiges of muggle-hood from my being. In that regard, people like Neville were really helpful. He had no experience of the muggle world, which suited me perfectly. I hid in his inexperience, reveled in his total absorption of the magical world. I learned volumes from Neville.

I was so good at masking my origins. I hid my shameful past so entirely that I thought no one would ever figure it out. Malfoy knew I was in care, but he didn’t know the very worst details. I vowed that he of all people would never know. I shuddered at the prospect of his discovery. If anyone had ever suspected that I had eaten rubbish, I don’t think I could have remained at Hogwarts. If they had known that I slept in alleys and disused buildings, it would have spelled disaster for me. It was bad enough that I was already known for being stupid, so I would not have been able to withstand that level of humiliation. Neville would have been understanding, as would Hermione and Justin, but I didn’t care about that. No one, not even Harry Potter, had to eat out of the rubbish bin. As deprived as Harry was as a child, he never had to sleep in an alley or scrounge for a scrap of food.

But the constant question nagged at me—who was I? Who were my parents? What were my origins? Were they alive? Murdered? Missing? Drunk? Finding the answer to many of my questions was easy—all I had to do was open the brown envelope now stored in my Gringott’s vault. But did I really want to know? What unsettled me was how I would react to the truth. The truth of my origins could have been anything. Maybe I was a pureblood. Mabye a muggle-born. Maybe something in-between. The thought that assaulted me the most was the prospect that my mother was still alive somewhere in the world.

I feared my anger most of all. After all, I had been put into some of the most horrible situations a kid can possibly endure. I was beaten, fondled, neglected, starved and altogether mistreated by nearly every adult in my life. If my parents were still alive, how could they possibly defend themselves for what had been done to me? How could they explain themselves? There was no story, no excuse that would soften me to them or blunt my rage. I had cowered in too many dark corners, nursed too many bloody noses and black eyes and lacerations to feel anything other than rage at what my life had become. And as much as I loved my new life and had finally fit in with everyone, the rage endured, lingered dangerously in my soul, threatening to destroy everything.

* * * * *

As summer neared, I had to be up front about a little of my past. When the subject of summer plans came up, I had nothing to say. Quite literally, I had nowhere to go. The week before end of term exams, the subject came up during break. I was sitting in the courtyard with Neville, Justin, Hannah, Parvati and Padma when the Patils told us they were visiting family in India that summer.

“What about you, Justin?” Padma asked.

“Home with the family. I’ll be catching up with my muggle mates, maybe going to Bath. Hannah? You?”

“We’re traveling to Scotland for a week, then to see some friends in Wales for a fortnight. Neville?”

“Oh, just home with my Gran. We’ll probably see some relatives and have a few friends over. What about you, Darwin?”

Darn. What do I say? Searching for a new alley to sleep in? No, I can’t say that. And there was no way I was going to the group home.

“I don’t really know,” I said nervously.

“Your parents work a lot?” Padma asked.

Parents? Darn! “Oh, uh, well no…” I started. I thought I was going to cry, and I struggled against it. My face fell.

Padma looked concerned. “What is it, Darwin?”

“You alright?” Justin asked.

I tried to collect myself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Look, guys, don’t laugh, OK?”

“Why would we laugh?” Neville asked, now looking thoroughly upset.

“It’s just that…” I took a deep breath. “I don’t exactly have…parents.” I said the last word in almost a whisper. I could feel my entire body flush. My hands shook.

“Oh my gosh,” Padma breathed.

“We’ve known you all this time and you never said anything?” Hannah said, almost in tears. She patted my hand sweetly.

“When did it happen?” Justin asked. “Were they in an accident or something?”

I shrugged, unable to look any of them in the eye. “I never knew them.”’

“Just like Potter,” Justin said.

“At least he knows who they are,” I said bitterly. “He had a whole year with them.”

Suddenly, Neville brightened up. “Say, Darwin, can you come over for the summer, then? All I’m ever around at home is adults. I don’t think Gran would mind. Unless you have a place to go.”

“I really don’t,” I said, more grateful than I could ever express. “I’d love to come over.”

Padma and Parvati began to cry.

“That’s so sweet,” Hannah said, crying, too.

And so began my summer tradition with the Longbottoms. Every summer I would go to Neville’s house, where we played and ran and swam and had an all-around great time. His grandmother, Augusta, was really great. At first she was pretty severe and sort of scary, but in reality, she was kind and gracious and patient. I thought the huge bird-hat she wore was brilliant, but Neville always hated it. We used to make jokes about that hat, and sometimes, we made up funny names for the bird.

As time passed, I became more and more comfortable at Hogwarts. The summer after my Second Year, I had come to an important decision. I resolved to find out about my parents, to be brave and finally open that envelope. Well, not right away. I vowed to open my envelope on my 16th birthday. That would give me three years to prepare myself mentally and emotionally. I vaguely thought about getting a little counseling, but I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea. I had tried to talk a little to Professor Flitwick and to Neville, but neither of them really understood.

One day after Potions, I was clearing away my things and getting ready to go to break. For once, I had had a particularly good lesson, finally achieving my very first O at Hogwarts. As I stood up, Professor Snape called me over. In spite of the good turn he had done me in my First Year, I was still a little afraid of him. How could I not be? There was something so dark and forbidding about him, so unapproachable and cold. His eyes, which I always tried to avoid, were piercing and fierce, entirely unfriendly. I took a breath and approached his desk, wondering what he would say to me.

“You did well today, Smith,” he said.

“Thank you, sir. I feel like I’m finally getting somewhere.” I turned to go, but then I stopped. I decided to take a chance, unsure why I wanted to talk to him in particular. His face was sallow and gaunt and almost wraith-like. I gulped. “Sir, may I ask you a personal question?”

He eyed me carefully, skeptically. “No.”

“It’s just that…well…I need a bit of advice, and…I just thought you might…”

He rolled his eyes impatiently. “Surely your House Master can advise you on personal matters, Smith. That is part of his job.”

“He tried, but I don’t think he quite gets what I mean. I just thought you might.”

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms grandly across his chest. “I normally do not involve myself in the personal lives of students outside my own House, Smith. However, if you feel the need to say something, do so quickly.”

I suddenly became tongue-tied. How to broach such a subject? “Well, see, I have this situation which has really caused me a lot of distress, and I’m having a hard time getting over it, sir.”

“This isn’t about a girl, is it?” He raised an eyebrow. “Please spare me your romantic moanings, Smith.”

“No. It’s not that. It’s just that,” I tried to continue. It was getting harder and harder, and I didn’t want to break down in front of him. He looked angry at me, very irritated.

“Yes?” he said impatiently. “I expect you will tell me some time in this century, Smith.”

Then I just blurted it out. “I was physically abused by a string of foster parents as a child, and I was forced to run away and live on the streets for six months and I had to survive on scraps of food from rubbish bins and I want to find out who my parents are but I’m really afraid of how I’ll react or how they’ll react to me.” I paused, stunned by my own boldness. The room became completely silent. Would Snape chuck me out or actually talk to me? I had no idea.

He pondered for a moment, showing no hint of emotion for a full minute. I was pretty sure I had shocked him, though he showed little sign of distress.

“I knew you were in care, of course, from that meeting in your First Year, Smith. I had no idea you were abused. I’m sorry you had to endure that. I can see why you didn’t get any good advice from Professor Flitwick, though I wouldn’t dismiss him entirely. He is very wise and very compassionate. You can lean on him for many things.”

“I know that, sir.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I somehow thought you might know how to advise me.”

“What sort of advice do you need?”

“I don’t know, sir. I guess I’m just concerned about my…well, my anger.”

Snape raised his eyebrows mirthfully. “And you’re asking me of all people?”

“That day in Potions my First Year, you talked to me in a way that made me think you might understand me, more than others.”

He scowled. “Perhaps.” He sighed, searching for the right words for me. I had put him into a very uncomfortable situation, and I suddenly regretted being so frank with him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said apologetically. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t mean to burden you.”

“You did right by telling me, Smith, however, I think that perhaps we should continue this conversation a little later, in my office. You have your next class in ten minutes and what I have to say to you will take much more than that.”

That afternoon I went to his office, where he sat me down to talk. A lot of times, when I talked to Professor Flitwick in his office, he would offer me ginger tea and biscuits. Snape did not. The chair on which I sat was stiff and a bit rickety and creaky. I waited for him to speak.

“Now then,” he said, “I want you to tell me every detail of your history. Spare nothing, even the very worst of it.”

Telling him the harrowing and embarrassing story of my early life was a lot harder than I ever imagined. In fact, I found myself unable to hold back my tears as I spoke. I fully expected Snape to stop me as I was more and more overwhelmed by emotion, but he did not. Instead, he urged me to continue. He did not offer me a handkerchief until I had wiped my nose on my sleeve for the fourth time.

“You may keep it,” he said with disgust. “Go on with your story.”

I went on, telling him details I had tried to push out of my mind for the last several years. I cried and sobbed as I went, recounting every pain and fear and terror I had ever experienced. And then I was finished. It took me well over an hour to get the whole story out, and by the time I was done, I was exhausted.

“How do you feel?” Snape asked smoothly.

I thought. “I think I’m OK. Just tired.”

“Lighter?”

I nodded. I did feel lighter, as if the burden that had been smothering me was suddenly lifted. I understood why he made me speak in such minute detail.

“What you just experienced, Smith, was a sort of purgative,” Snape explained. “You will never progress in your life as long as you hold on to such a horrific past. Now that you have spoken it, you have power over it. The worst of the emotion can no longer control you, as long as you do one very important thing.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“I wish for you to return to my office one week from today, at 4:15. With you, you are to bring the name of one person that you trust without question. A peer, not a teacher. Is that clear?”

“Why?”

“That is something we will discuss next week.”

As with most abused children, the issue of trust was a sticky one for me. There was not one adult in my past who did not let me down in some way. In fact, it was only when I arrived at Hogwarts that I could begin to trust any adult. But even as a Third Year, that sense of trust was still pretty difficult. I knew that the teachers at Hogwarts were mostly good people, easy to talk to, helpful in many respects. But trusting any of them was another matter. Life experience had taught me that people always have an ulterior motive, no matter how nice they are. Why should another kid be any different?

Whom did I trust?

Well, of course there was Neville. He was so guileless that I couldn’t help but trust him. I mean, he was my best friend. Of course I trusted him. But like me, he was a kid. I couldn’t lay a massive burden on his shoulders. It wouldn’t be fair. And who’s to say he wouldn’t let slip some secret of mine without even realising? As much as I loved my friend, he wasn’t exactly the brightest light on the tree—he was the most scatter-brained person I had ever met! He even managed to lose his Remembrall not too long after his grandmother gave it to him! I trusted him, but I didn’t know if I could really lean on him.

But other than Neville, there wasn’t anyone else I truly trusted. As much as I liked Padma, I couldn’t tell secrets like that to a girl. If I couldn’t tell Hermione Granger, I definitely couldn’t tell Padma. Hermione and I had remained good friends throughout our days at Hogwarts, and we shared a lot of ideas together. But she’s still a girl. As I returned to Snape’s office the following week, I worried. I didn’t really have a name to offer him other than…

“…Neville Longbottom.” I blushed bright red as I said his name. Snape’s disdain for my friend was well-known, as was Neville’s total fear of the dreaded Potions professor.

“Do not discount Mr. Longbottom so quickly,” Snape said. Was he kidding? He had discounted Neville years ago! “While he is rather slipshod in Potions, that does not mean he does not have other gifts.”

“I suppose.”

Snape gave me a hard look. “As you go through your life, Smith, especially with a past like yours, it is essential that you always have at least one person in your life to whom you can unburden yourself. It is dangerous to repress a past like yours. You may feel a certain shame in admitting to the details, yet not to express them to a trusted confidante will destroy your life and damage your soul. Is that clear, Smith?”

“I think so, sir.”

“That is why trust is essential. You will not be open with someone you do not trust, and if you are not willing to be entirely open, you will do yourself no good.”

I nodded. He was absolutely right. As a 13 year-old, I didn’t fully appreciate the wisdom of his words, but just three years later, the day I turned 16, it all came back to me, full force. More on that later. I’d rather think about Padma. Sorry. I get like this when the subject of my identity comes up. It’s so much easier to retreat into softer memories of my love life with Padma Patil, the girl who saved my life.

Not literally, of course.

I had liked Padma since the start of our Third Year. Well, I always liked her as a chum, but by Third Year, as the hormones kicked in, I saw that Padma had somehow changed. She looked different all of a sudden—a little more filled out, almost…womanly. That realisaiton was a bit of a shock. I was such a mess during those pubescent years—there were days when I got so distracted by girls that I didn’t know where I was. I’d get caught up in the vision of some pretty little thing, and then five minutes would go by. All us boys were going through that. Even Neville, though I admit he was a bit of a late bloomer. The only person thicker than Neville when it came to girls was Harry. Well, I guess he sort of had an excuse, with all those worries about You-Know-Who weighing him down.

Padma and I should have started dating in our Fourth Year. I had every intention of asking her to the Yule Ball, but I was such a coward that by the time I had worked up the courage to ask her, she and Parvati were already double-dating with Ron Weasley and Harry. I ended up going with Lisa Turpin, a Ravenclaw in my year. We had fun, but I felt a little pang every time I saw Padma. And when she ditched her date, I was even more upset when she started dancing with someone else. If only I had gone on my own. Oh well. Lisa and I really did have a great time. She gave me my very first kiss, too. It was a pretty clumsy kiss, but then again, she was equally inexperienced.

But the kiss was an important moment for me, for many reasons. Considering some of the more sordid aspects of my past, the notion of intimacy with anyone made me very nervous. I had never let anyone, including Neville, get too close, preferring to control every aspect of my life. For the most part, I had succeeded. After my emotional outburst in Snape’s office the year before, I was able to retake control of myself and make great strides in my progress at school. My grades soared after that tearful meeting, and my heart lightened. And now, with a very willing, very pretty Lisa in my arms, I was ready to take the plunge. I remember that her kiss tasted a little like Droobles.

In the end, Padma and I started dating at the start of our Fifth Year. With news of You-Know-Who’s return and all the controversy surrounding it, a lot of us felt scared and uncertain of our future. It’s not the most honourable reason to start dating a person, but that’s just how it was. We had become regular partners in Charms, so we had ample opportunity to chat about all sorts of trivial and important things. Padma’s worst fear was that her overprotective father would pull her and Parvati out of Hogwarts too soon. He, like many parents, were concerned about the way in which Professor Dumbledore was running the school. A lot of parents were scandalised that Ministry had felt it necessary to place Dolores Umbridge in the school, to make sure things were being run properly.

That Umbridge. At first I only found her mildly annoying. She had this girly little voice that was almost obscene for a woman her age. Her classes consisted of reading and taking exams. I usually got E’s or O’s, for the simple reason that I completed my reading. I missed the practical approach of Professor Lupin, and the almost manic lessons of Professor Moody. Most of agreed that Professor Umbridge was an even worse teacher than Professor Lockhart, and he was pretty awful. Padma and I started making little jokes about Umbridge, and sometimes they got so savage that we could barely look at her without bursting into silent sniggers. Word around the castle was “don’t get into detention with Umbridge.” 

I found out why later that year.

During the Christmas holiday, I took a special trip to London to pay a visit to my Gringott’s vault. Along with 75 Galleons, I also took the unopened, brown envelope that had been sitting there since my First Year. As I carried the envelope containing my life history back to Hogwarts, I felt both worried and resolute. The date of my 16th birthday, May 7, was rapidly approaching. I had to be ready to unveil the truth, once and for all.


	4. The Brown Envelope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I reached for the envelope. My hands shook terribly, and I was almost hyperventilating. I picked it up and pressed it to my chest, continuing to pray for a good result. Then I just went for it. I unsealed the envelope and pulled out the contents. There were a few papers in there, but the one I was most interested in was my birth certificate. After a minute, I located it and pulled it out tentatively._
> 
>  
> 
> _Breathe._
> 
>  
> 
> _Don’t pass out._
> 
>  
> 
> _Breathe._
> 
>  
> 
> _OK, here we go._

That entire term seemed to drag along cruelly. So many things were going on at school, and yet, even in the face of O.W.L’s, I still could not get my mind off that envelope. I began to wonder if I should go ahead and open it before my birthday. Every time I felt tempted, however, something happened. First, Ron Weasley’s brothers, Fred and George, went on a sort of rampage, causing all sorts of delightful mayhem throughout the school. One day, for example, they set off the most brilliant fireworks I had ever seen. Padma and I chose that opportunity to have a very romantic kiss under the sparkling lights of the pink and green lights buzzing through the sky.

But the swamp they created on the fifth floor was the most brilliant thing I had ever seen. Professor Dumbledore had just left the school, and the Ministry had the gall to appoint that toad Umbridge as Headmistress. I would have thought that Professor McGonagall would be chosen for the post. After all, she has a lot of seniority and she’s an amazing teacher as well. The departure of Professor Dumbledore unsettled me a lot. For me, it wasn’t so much a safety issue—unlike Harry, I didn’t fear for my life or my freedom in the absence of the Headmaster. Rather, I felt like I had lost a true ally, a gentle, loving almost-father figure, and I worried terribly that I might never see him again.

When Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad, i.e., Slytherin thugs like Malfoy and Montague, started prying into the privacy of the students, I got really nervous. If they found my envelope and opened it before I got a chance to, they might keep it from me, spread gossip about me about the school, taunt me about my origins and not tell me the truth. I had been through enough humiliation in my life, and the last thing I wanted was to take crap from anyone on this very personal subject.

I came up with all sorts of possibilities as to who they were. My favourite fantasy was that they were sort of like Harry Potter’s parents, a loving, brave couple who sacrificed their lives for the cause of good. I wanted them to be noble, virtuous, adventurous…and handsome, of course. I didn’t want to think I had ugly parents. I know, that sounds terrible. Another scenario was that my mother was romanced by a mysterious stranger, possibly an Auror or a pirate, and when she became pregnant, she made the choice to give me a better life with an adoptive family. I liked to think that she might be looking for me, that she might wonder about me and worry about me. It could be. The worst case scenario was that my mother had a brute of a husband who was cruel to her, and so she ran away from him whilst still pregnant with me, and then died in childbirth.

The only person I told about my parental dreams was Neville. I took Professor Snape’s advice and decided to trust Neville as someone I could lean on. His situation was similar to mine—sort of. His own parents had been tortured into insanity and currently lived at St. Mungo’s. I went with him a couple of times to visit them. I found Neville’s mum quite sweet, even if she was completely mad. Before we left, she gave me a crinkled wizard card. I still have it somewhere. But even Neville, for all the tragedy he experienced in his family, still knew his parents, even if they didn’t always know him. He could at least go to bed at night knowing that he was loved and protected. I never had that luxury. It’s not that I resent him or anything, because I don’t. I’m just a bit jealous. I would take mentally ill parents over no parents any day of the week.

After the Easter holiday was over, I had to start making a few decisions about my future. I read all the pamphlets about possible careers—the one about Magical Law Enforcement attracted me the most. Ironic, isn’t it? Maybe not. Being an Auror sounded interesting, too, but I wasn’t sure if I could get the grades. And even if I got the grades on my exams, there was the question of my questionable parentage. If it turned out that my parents were normal people, then it might be OK, but if they were dodgy or criminal or muggles, then I wasn’t so sure.

I simply had to know.

At long last, the fateful day came. The morning of May 7, I lay in bed a bit longer than usual, reluctant to rise. I had scheduled out my day—lessons, dinner, unveiling. Padma, Neville, Hermione and Justin wanted to sit with me whilst I opened my envelope, but I said no. This was something I had to do alone. Sitting through lessons that day, I don’t think I heard a single word said by any of my teachers. I had a hard time sitting still, in fact, and about fifty times per class, I felt tempted to sprint out of my chair and return to Ravenclaw Tower. I resisted, with much effort.

At dinner that evening, I played with my food distractedly. Padma kissed me on the cheek.

“Are you sure you want to be alone in this?” she asked. “I really want to be there for you, sweetie.”

I nodded. My stomach felt sick with anticipation. “Thanks, Padma, but I really need to do this on my own.”

“I hope it’s good news. No nutters, or criminals,” she said encouragingly.

“Me, too.” I took a deep breath and returned to Ravenclaw Tower, alone.

I sat on my bed for a full hour, the sealed envelope in front of me, tantalising me, daring me to explore its secrets. I wasn’t very spiritual or anything, but I found myself praying desperately that whoever they were, at least one of my parents would be a good person. Not perfect, but not a monster.

I reached for the envelope. My hands shook terribly, and I was almost hyperventilating. I picked it up and pressed it to my chest, continuing to pray for a good result. Then I just went for it. I unsealed the envelope and pulled out the contents. There were a few papers in there, but the one I was most interested in was my birth certificate. After a minute, I located it and pulled it out tentatively.

Breathe.

Don’t pass out.

Breathe.

OK, here we go.

 **Place of birth:** London. OK, not bad. I grew up in London, so it wasn’t like I was transported across the country or anything. Next…

 **Name of Mother** …gods, I was nervous. Please let it be good. Mariah…Potter? What? What did that mean? Was I related to Harry in some way? Could she be a sister of Harry’s father? A cousin perhaps? Was Potter a common wizarding name? Was she even a witch? Maybe all that wizard gold came from my father, not my mother. It could be.

 **Name of Father** …no…not that…NO!!! How could my father be…Lucius Malfoy?

It was impossible! Unthinkable! Lucius Malfoy? How could that possibly be? The Potters and the Malfoys hated each other! Lucius Malfoy was married already to Narcissa! Draco was only a month younger than I! What the hell was going on? I felt dirty all of a sudden, tainted, corrupted. It was like finding out that your father was Josef Stalin or Hitler or something, some horrid monster from the not-so-distant past. The shock was so powerful that I nearly sicked up my half-eaten dinner. The knot in my stomach tightened as I wondered frantically what it all meant. If Lucius Malfoy was my father, then Draco was my…brother. Well, half-brother.

A powerful depression swept over me, threatening to demolish any sense of self-respect I had gained over the years. It wasn’t fair. I had suffered so much, endured the very worst that a child could suffer, and yet I lived. But what for? To find out that my father was a cruel, cold-hearted Death Eater? All I could do was lie in bed, paralysed, incapable of the slightest movement for a full four hours. Horrible thoughts tore through my mind, violent, vengeful thoughts. After all, with all his wealth and prestige in the wizarding community, Lucius Malfoy left me forsaken and abandoned, and for reasons I could only surmise. Was it out of callousness? Fear? Worry? Shame?

I had to know more.

The next day, I stayed in bed, telling Professor Flitwick that I was too ill to attend classes. He was very concerned about me, so I told him that all I needed was a few more hours rest, and then I’d be much better.

What a lie.

Rest was not the thing I needed. Information was what I needed. But information was now what I feared the most. I was completely mixed up. I wanted to know why I was abandoned, and I didn’t want to know. I wanted to know the circumstances of my conception, and I didn’t to know. And then there was the subject of Draco. My instincts told me not to say a word to him. It would likely put him in his place if he knew he had an illegitimate brother who had eaten out of rubbish bins, but on the other hand, he could also make life at Hogwarts very difficult for me. With my exams in the offing, I sought peace, not conflict. No, telling Draco was a very bad idea.

Then again, I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell anyone. I knew people would ask, and I worried about what I would say. I did not want it known by anyone that I was the son of Lucius Malfoy. But I was also a Potter. Did Harry know who Mariah Potter was? Did one of the teachers? Yes, maybe that was the best route. Asking a teacher. But which one? Snape was out of the question. He wasn’t all that old, so I figured he was probably a classmate of Lucius. I should have asked Professor Flitwick, but I just couldn’t. Perhaps Professor McGonagall would know. Yes, that would be good. She had been at Hogwarts for a very long time, so she was bound to remember the days of Lucius Malfoy and Mariah Potter.

I didn’t ask right away, though. Paralysis and denial still held me back. Every time I looked at Draco in the Great Hall, I tried to find some sort of resemblance. I didn’t want to find it at all, but one day, three days after I had opened up the envelope, I saw it. It was Draco’s eyes. They were just like mine, grey-blue and piercing. I thought more about my face—our noses were identical, too. It was creepy. Of course, there were obvious differences. My hair, for example, was dark brown and sort of messy, while his was light blond and straight and well-manicured. I always had a hard time keeping my hair groomed, and even on a good day, I usually managed to look like I had just emerged from a windstorm.

Just like Harry. In fact, the more I looked at Harry, I saw other similarities. We had the same mouth, or at least very alike. I was tall like Draco, but my build was a cross between both of them. My chin was very Potter-like, but my hands were like the Malfoys. For a solid week, I distracted myself by comparing and contrasting myself with my two new relatives. I was a real mix of the two. But that didn’t settle who my mother was, nor how it was that she gave birth to Lucius Malfoy’s son. Did she love him, or did he force himself on her? And if he did, why didn’t she report him? And if she did report him, why was nothing done? I hated him more and more as each hour passed.

Revising for my upcoming exams became almost impossible. I would sit for hours, and yet, I seemed not to get anywhere. One day, my slipshod attitude finally caught up with me. Potions had just finished, and I sat there near my cauldron, suddenly lost in thought about my mother. Since she was a Potter, she was likely a Gryffindor. She was likely brave, noble, sweet and supportive, just like all the other Gryffindors I know. How could she mix herself up with a Malfoy? It just didn’t make any sense. He must have forced himself…

“Mr. Smith,” Snape interrupted my reverie. “Are you planning on sitting there all day, or might you find the time to attend the rest of your lessons?”

His voice startled me.

“Sorry, sir,” I said, furtively packing up my things.

“You are aware that your exams are less than a month away?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir, I know.”

“Your performance these last few days has been reminiscent of your First Year here. What’s on your mind, Smith?”

“Nothing, sir,” I lied. “It’s just nerves.”

I hurried out of the room. I was late to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall was less than thrilled with me. I sheepishly found a seat in the back of the class and did my best to pay attention to the review she was giving us on multiplying our teacups into full tea sets. I didn’t do very well that day, as all I could still ponder on was wanting to hurt Lucius Malfoy very badly, maybe hit him with the Cruciatus curse. She kept me after class, visibly irritated with my behaviour.

“Mr. Smith,” she said sharply. “A word.”

I stayed put. Professor McGonagall was a nice lady, but she scared me a little. It was that stern demeanour she often held, that commanding sense of power she so often held. I didn’t fear that she would hurt me or anything—that was a ridiculous idea. In fact, she was one of the most tender and overprotective adults I had ever met, only surpassed by Professors Flitwick and Dumbledore. I sensed immediately that this would not go well, so I struggled to come up with some lame excuse for my inattention.

“Late today, late last class, not a word out of you for five days,” she said harshly. “This is not the time to skive off your exam preparation.”

“I’m not skiving off!” I protested, a little too loudly. Her flash of anger silenced me.

“Talk to me, Smith,” she said. “All your teachers have expressed serious concern for you this week. They say you’ve lost heart, lost your focus. What is going on with you?”

“I’m just a little tired, Professor,” I said. That was true.

“What else?”

What else? Now was not the time to bring up the subject that obsessed my mind. Then, I decided to skirt the whole Malfoy issue and try it from the Potter angle. As Head of Gryffindor, she was bound to be pleased to hear about Mariah Potter.

“Professor, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“See, I was reading something the other day, and I came across the name Mariah Potter. Do you know who she is?”

To my shock, the colour drained from her face. “I do…know who…she is,” she stammered. I had never seen Professor McGonagall like this. I worried. Perhaps the memory of Mariah’s death still haunted her.

“Did she attend Hogwarts?”

“She was a little ahead of Professor Snape. Left Hogwarts in the early 1970’s.”

“Did she know Lucius Malfoy at all? Were they friends? Surely she was a Gryffindor.”

“She was. Quite a character, she was. Why this interest?”

I flushed. I didn’t want to admit the truth, as least not just yet. “I saw the name Potter, and I wondered if she were related to Harry. Did you know her at all?”

“I did. And yes, she is the first cousin of Harry’s father. Their fathers were brothers.”

“What was she like? Was she like Harry?”

Suddenly, Professor McGonagall looked out the window. “I’m sorry, Smith, I hate to cut you off like this. I have to meet with a student in about five minutes.”

That was strange. Then again, I hadn’t really elaborated on why I wanted to know all this. Either way, I had to get to lunch before my next class, so off I went. But on the way, just as I passed the courtyard, heading toward the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy stepped out from the shadows, positioning himself right in my path. He had this gleeful look on his hard face. As I looked at him, I tried to see shades of myself—to my frustration, I did. The eyes were so similar to mine that I was momentarily distracted. The nose, the brow, too. But the hair was entirely different. And the mouth—nothing alike. It was small comfort, but it was something.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” I asked sharply.

“No running in the corridors,” he said impishly.

“I wasn’t running,” I seethed. This was the last thing I needed.

Malfoy screwed up his face in mock concentration. “Hmm, let’s see. Contradicting a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, minus ten. Lying, minus twenty.”

I made a fist. “I’ll give you something to fight about, Malfoy,” I said dangerously. I really wanted to punch him back to the Stone Age.

But Malfoy balked. All he did was raise his eyebrows, _my_ eyebrows, rather rakishly and said, “Oh, so now we’re giving threats, are we? I would have thought a few years living in dumps and orphanages would have tempered your violent streak, Smith.”

I shoved him aside and moved on. “Sod off, Malfoy,” I grumbled, mortified by his words. I should have told him the truth, but for some reason, I didn’t. Instead, I let him get away with docking me points and moved on. 

But my bad mood persisted throughout the rest of the day. I snapped at almost everyone I encountered, including Padma, and then I made a huge mistake. As I passed through the hall almost blindly, I bumped into someone. When I said something rather crass at them, I felt a talon-like grip on my shoulder. I looked into the furious face of Professor Snape. All the colour drained from my face.

“Oh! Sorry, sir, I thought…”

He glared at me. “Detention. My office. Seven o’clock tomorrow evening.” And with that, he swept away, his black robes flowing grandly behind him.

When seven o’clock the next evening arrived, I found myself half-heartedly at the door of Snape’s office. I knocked lightly, feeling resentful and angry at the injustice over being punished for an accident. What I wasn’t expecting was the presence of Professors McGonagall and Flitwick in Snape’s office, all three of them looking at me like Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad. I gulped, wondering just how much trouble I was in.


	5. The Mother of All Witches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Mr. Smith,” McGonagall asked, “have you ever heard of a witch called the Duchess?”_
> 
> _Who didn’t know about the Duchess? She was a mass murderer, a psychopath, almost as violent as You-Know-Who was. Perhaps she was the one who killed my mother. Perhaps she was in league with Malfoy, and they killed my mother and left me to die alone. Yes, that must be the story. What other possibility was there?_

What was this? Three teachers against one student? I know I was a bit rude to Professor Snape in the corridor, but I hardly thought that warranted such a dour conference. Wasn’t this a bit of overkill? I would apologise to Snape, of course, and I was willing to do the detention, but the presence of these teachers, and right before my exams, spelled disaster to me. Would I be chucked out? If so, what would happen to me? Without even my O.W.L’s, there wasn’t much I could do in the wizarding world. Of course, I did have a tremendous amount of money, but what if I wanted to have a career, too? What about joining the Magical Law Enforcement Department?

My entire future rested on these next few minutes, so I put on a plastic smile and my best inquisitive look. But before I could say a word, Snape pointed to a chair in the corner.

“Sit down, Smith,” he said in his usual sniping way.

I sat. I tried to open my mouth again to speak, but again, Snape cut across me.

“Now then, Smith, I doubt you know why you’re here,” he said in smoothly condescending voice.

“I…”

“You mentioned a name to me, Mr. Smith,” McGonagall interrupted, “that I haven’t heard in a very long time.”

What? Wasn’t this supposed to be about what happened in the corridor? “I don’t understand, Professor.”

“That is not surprising,” Snape said tartly.

“You mentioned the name Mariah Potter,” McGonagall said.

“Yeah. I was wondering about her.”

“Who exactly is she to you, Smith?” McGonagall asked.

“Why?” I asked, more than a little uncomfortable. If I said she was my mother, then I’d have to admit that Lucius Malfoy was my father and that Draco Malfoy was my half-brother. I preferred to forget the entire connection.

“You said you read about her,” she said. “Where did you come across her name?”

“Just something I was reading. It was nothing.” I felt like I was being interrogated.

“This is no time to protect your privacy, Smith,” Snape said.

“I just don’t see…”

“Please, Mr. Smith,” Professor Flitwick interjected, pleadingly. “Please tell us where you read her name.”

That was it. They had me cornered. I didn’t see any way out of it. They would know she was my mother, and then they would find out about Malfoy. It was inevitable.

“I saw it on…well…on my…birth certificate.”

I thought McGonagall was going to faint right there, but she managed to stay on her feet, though with some difficulty. Snape and Flitwick looked equally horrified. What was this? Was it known that Malfoy forced himself on her? Did they see me as some hideous child of rape? Was I now tainted by the conditions of my conception?

“She’s your mother?” Snape asked, almost panting. His hands were actually shaking.

“What if she is?” I asked indignantly. “It wasn’t her fault she got pregnant!”

Snape glared at me. “What on earth are you talking about, Smith?”

I don’t know why I blurted that out. I forgot that the whole rape scenario was entirely in my own mind. I didn’t really know whether it was true. I blushed.

“Mr. Smith,” McGonagall asked, “have you ever heard of a witch called the Duchess?”

Who didn’t know about the Duchess? She was a mass murderer, a psychopath, almost as violent as You-Know-Who was. Perhaps she was the one who killed my mother. Perhaps she was in league with Malfoy, and they killed my mother and left me to die alone. Yes, that must be the story. What other possibility was there?

“When I was at school,” Snape said, trying to remain calm, “Lucius Malfoy and his girlfriend were about six years ahead of me. Lucius had a sort of double life at school. He dated Narcissa Black in order to please his parents and hers, but he had another girlfriend, his true love.”

“The Duchess?”

Snape raised his eyebrows in mock delight. “Very good, Smith! A correct answer for once this week! At any rate, Lucius was drawn into the Dark Side by the Duchess. She was the one who introduced him to the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. It was under her influence that Malfoy transformed from a common thug to an elite criminal mastermind.”

“So they were the ones who plotted against Mariah Potter?” I asked.

Snape rolled his eyes impatiently. “The Duchess IS Mariah Potter!” he snapped.

Total silence—no one said a word. It was as if had just fallen off the Astronomy Tower and landed on my chest. I was entirely winded, aghast at what Snape had just said. The Duchess was my mother?

“But she’s a Potter,” I said, more weakly than I intended. “She’s a Gryffindor!”

Snape scowled. “Oh yes, and of course, we all know that the Potters can do no wrong,” he said bitterly.

McGonagall flashed him a severe look. “Darwin, even the best families have a black sheep,” she said, trying to calm me down. “She was always rebellious, even from her earliest days at Hogwarts. I must admit that I was a bit confused when she was sorted into Gryffindor.”

“Pettigrew was a Gryffindor, too, Minerva,” Snape reminded her.

“True.”

The history of my mother’s crimes, something I learned later, is longer than I can possibly relate here. Here’s the short version. Apparently she began killing when she was still at school. She never killed anyone at the school, but on holiday, she was ruthless and cunning. Rumour had it that by the time she left Hogwarts at 18, she had killed six people, for varying reasons. It was as if she were experimenting with various sorts of murder, seeing how it felt to her to take someone’s life in increasingly painful ways. She and Lucius began their affair when they were Fifth Years, and their affair was so torrid and so disgustingly scandalous that by Christmas of that year, all the teachers and their parents forbade them to see each other any longer. Both were contrite and promised to stay away. So, Lucius took up with Narcissa, as was expected, but Mariah did not take a new lover.

Instead, she explored her other passions—violence, power, control and mayhem. She ran through a series of affairs with other boys at school, her age and older, and dabbled heavily in the dark arts. Unknown to anyone, she and Lucius also maintained their affair, though now in secret. Mariah accepted that he had to marry Narcissa, and never felt a threat from her. She knew that she and Lucius were soulmates, no matter whom he married. And in fact, after his marriage, the affair continued, still in secret, but no less fiery. But her skills in the dark arts also increased. By the time she was out of school, she was already a confirmed Death Eater, and before she was 20, she was considered one of You-Know-Who’s chief lieutenants. Among the Death Eaters, Mariah set the standard for absolute sadistic cruelty, and the more pain she caused wizard or muggle, the more content she became. Her version of the Cruciatus Curse became feared throughout the wizarding world by the time Mariah was a mere 21. Apparently, those she cursed experienced so much agonizing pain that they usually begged her to kill them. Naturally, she did not, at least not right away. Aspiring Death Eaters like Bellatrix Black and Rabastan Lestrange looked up to Mariah, now the Duchess, as a role model and icon.

I sat there like a dolt as the reality of my origins sank in. It all felt like a sick joke. I waited for Flitwick to break out laughing and for Snape to slap me on the back and send me back to Ravenclaw. But it was no joke. The ghastly truth of my mother was all too real, and pretty soon, I saw that having Lucius Malfoy for a father wasn’t nearly so terrible as having the Duchess for a mother. But then it dawned on me.

“How was my mother…the Duchess…killed?” I asked, now feeling a bit faint.

“She was killed by an Auror just after you were born,” Snape said. “Frank Longbottom. In fact, the torture of Frank and his wife, Alice, were partly in revenge for the Duchess’ killing. She was a crucial part of the Dark Lord’s organisation, a vital player. She was responsible for orchestrating so many of the Dark Lord’s killings, and when she herself was killed, it was a very hard blow for him. He was enraged that she was taken from him, and he swore violent revenge.”

“Did she and he ever?” I asked, not really wanting to know.

“No,” Snape said. “Theirs was more a marriage of true minds. They were of one thought and one intention. Many Death Eaters claim to be the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant, but in truth, your mother really was. She was really less of a servant and more of a partner, nearly an equal, which was unheard of in his circles. But the Duchess was special, and the Dark Lord knew that. He wasn’t about to let go of such a valuable sadist merely over a power struggle.”

“You mean she would have militated against him?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” Snape replied. “In a heartbeat. There is no true love in her, nor in him. She no more loved Lucius Malfoy as anyone else, in spite of their intimacy.”

“Not even me?” My heart broke. Every kid wants to believe his mother loves him, even if she is a monster.

Snape’s face fell. I had never seen a shred of sympathy in him, at least not since my First Year. “There is nothing you could have done to make her love you, Smith. It has nothing to do with you. She didn’t even love herself. People like that don’t. They are not capable of love.”

The thought overwhelmed me. I broke down and cried, lamenting the loss of my dream mother, my fantasy parents, my hope of being proud of my background. How could I tell anyone who my parents were?

McGonagall place a comforting arm around my heaving shoulders as I sobbed pitifully. “You are a rare gift, Darwin,” she said softly, almost like a mother. “You are proof that evil is not genetic. You are a strong, independent, caring individual with a wonderful future ahead of him.”

“Who would hire me? Who would marry me?” I moaned. “When I have to tell them the names of my parents, what am I supposed to say? My parents are both Death Eaters, but that’s OK because I was brought up abusively by muggles?”

Snape sat down on the other side and looked me in the eye. “We must insist, Smith, that you say nothing about this to anyone, especially not to Draco. He tells his fa…Lucius…everything, and this is something he must not know, at least not now. There may come a time when you can communicate openly with your fa…with Lucius, but now is not the time.”

The last think I ever wanted to do was confide in Draco Malfoy, about that or about anything at all. I nearly passed out making my way back to Ravenclaw, and to be honest, I didn’t know how I was going to make it to the next day. I wanted to leave Hogwarts, leave the wizarding world, cut out my eyes and panhandle outside of Sainsbury’s the rest of my life. Anything was better than this. Even the abuse I suffered at the hands of the muggles was better than this. It had to be. I would rather eat out of rubbish bins the rest of my life than have to spend one day as my mother’s son. Isn’t that a horrible thought? But I still feel that way.

An hour later, I returned to my room, dazed, traumatised, still agonised with grief so powerful it threatened to destroy me. Should I end it all, jump out the window of Ravenclaw tower? No, that would be ridiculous. That would change nothing, and it would let my mother take yet another life. I couldn’t let her do that, especially not when it was my own life. Plus, she didn’t deserve my blood. But how would I live with the knowledge of who my mother was? What about Padma? How could I ever tell her the truth? Her father was so overprotective—did I really think he would allow his precious jewel to affiliate with the son of the Duchess? And what about Neville? How would he react if he knew that his father killed my mother, and that his father was barking mad at St. Mungo’s because of what he did to my mother?

I thought I would go out of my mind at that point. I would have to live a horrible lie, far worse than the one I was already living. It was bad enough that I had concealed the more shameful aspects of my early childhood from most people at Hogwarts, but I would rather they all know that I ate rubbish than that I was the son of the Duchess and Lucius Malfoy. I would do almost anything, tell any lie I had to in order to conceal the horrible reality of my origins.

Walking out of Ravenclaw the next day was an act of faith. I felt like everyone was looking at me, judging me, detecting something untoward about me. I know, I was paranoid, but I couldn’t help it. I felt as if there were a sign on my back saying, “Son of Vile Death Eaters!!! Keep away!” I had to be tough, deaden myself to the reality my life had become. Like usual, I ate my breakfast with my friends, joked about with Neville before class, and walked hand-in-hand with Padma to Charms. The sunlight shone gently on us as we walked, and for a brief moment, I felt good, almost happy. I paused, put my arm around Padma and gave her a little kiss on the lips before we moved on.

And then it happened. I was so stupid. Draco had been lurking in the shadows, as he usually did these days, just looking to get someone in trouble for something. So now, I was his new target. He had mostly left me alone since our First Year, but today…well…

He approached us looking very businesslike, very efficient. He even had a clipboard. Can you believe it? A tight-arsed, stupid clipboard!

“Snogging in the corridors is not allowed, Smith,” he declared. “That’s ten points off Ravenclaw for each of you.”

“That’s not fair!” Padma snapped.

“Yeah!” I said. “YOU were giving Pansy Parkinson a throat exam with your tongue outside the Great Hall just last week!”

Malfoy smirked, the bastard. “Well that was last week, Smith. And let’s see, that’s five more off for contradicting a Prefect.” He scribbled something down on his clipboard.

Furious, I batted it out of his hand. “How many points off do I get for that?”

He advanced on me, his eyes flashing with fury. “Pick that up, Smith!”

“Sod off, Malfoy!” I was this close to punching his fatuous face.

Malfoy pulled out his wand. I pulled out mine, gripping it so hard I thought it might break.

“Pick up that clipboard, NOW!” he ordered, through gritted teeth.

I stood my ground. And then I said it. “Pick it up yourself, BROTHER!”

He gave me a strange look, but before either of us could tear out each other’s throats, none other than Professor Snape charged at us, his face almost red with rage. I had never seen him like that before, and in truth, it scared the crap out of me. I knew I had blown it.

“Mr. Smith!” he bellowed at me, “my office, NOW!” I opened my mouth to protest, but he told me to shut up. His wrath was almost palpable. I did not argue back, but sheepishly went to his office, expecting nothing less than a thrashing from him. It’s amazing how quickly I reverted back to my childhood response to adult anger. As a boy, that tone of voice always meant imminent, intense physical pain. I readied myself to beg for mercy, to apologise, to promise never to do it again, only just don’t hurt me…

When we entered his office, he slammed the door shut, still raging. Grabbing me by the lapels, he jerked me toward him so that I could see the pores in his sallow skin, and smell his coffee breath.

“I told you not even a day ago NOT to say a word to Mr. Malfoy!” he said, his tone lethal.

I could actually feel my knees shaking. He was going to kill me. I was sure. “I…I just used a common term, sir…”

Snape loosened his grip on my robes. He stepped back half a pace. “Draco Malfoy may hang around with a bunch of apes, but he is not a stupid person. He is one of the brightest students in this school, and what’s more, he notices EVERYTHING. He does not forget what he sees, either, and if you think he’ll just pass over a word like ‘brother,’ then you are quite mistaken. In fact, he may very well tell Lucius!”

“But I’ve called people that before, Professor,” I insisted. Actually, that was a lie. I had heard the term in American muggle cinema before, but that was about it. I doubted that Malfoy had ever seen an American muggle film. My face fell. “I’m sorry, sir. I really am. It just came out. I wasn’t thinking. You don’t really think he’d…”

Snape sighed, fully letting go of my robes now. He shook his head and sat behind the desk, deep in thought. “Well, I’ll have to do some damage control today, to make sure he knows you were just joking with him. And now you really do have a detention. My office, tomorrow night at 7. Now get out.”

I was late to Charms, and had to sit with Ernie Macmillan rather than with Padma, who was now sitting with Michael Corner. They looked rather well together. Corner’s parents were respectable members of the wizarding community, I was sure. I was sure his mother was not a mass murderer or a Death Eater. I was sure that his father was not plotting the overthrow of the Ministry. Michael Corner was well-liked, well-brought up, comfortable, pampered, with civilised manners and refined tastes. OK, so maybe I’m going a bit overboard on his being refined. No teenaged boy is refined. That just defies nature. Either way, I looked at Michael as I did every other boy at school, except for Malfoy. He was nearly as mixed up as I was.

But that thought gave me pause. It wasn’t really Draco’s fault that he was as he was. I mean, look at who raised him! Look at what his parents expected of him. If my mother had raised me, would I not be the same way, only worse? Now don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t about to cozy up to my brother…Draco…or anything. But I felt a strange sympathy for him all of a sudden, a feeling so powerful that it upset me for days. What was going on in my head? Was it all just a stress reaction to the combination of upcoming exams and the nauseating knowledge of who I was? I didn’t know any more.

One thing I did know was that Padma was growing tired of my moping—I tried to brighten my mood, but it was no good. Padma was perceptive enough to see that this was more than just anxiety over O.W.L’s. She quickly saw that something was eating at me, and then one day, a week before exams, she confronted me. You see, she caught me staring off again in the Great Hall, at nothing in particular, my face grave and morose.

“Darwin,” she said very gently.

I didn’t reply right away. Padma poked me in the ribs, which made me jump, nearly spilling my bottle of ink.

“Darwin!” she said, a little harshly now. “Are you OK?”

“Fine. Yeah, I’m fine.”

She eyed me skeptically. “You were doing it again. Staring.”

“Sorry.” I started to read my Potions notes again, but soon, my attention wandered off. Again, Padma poked me in the ribs. Again, I jumped. “Stop it!” I said, irritated.

“Want to take a break, go for a little walk?” She stood up, fully anticipating that my answer would be yes.

Actually, a walk sounded pretty good, so I followed her outside, despite the disapproving look of some of the Inquisitorial Squad, who lurked around the perimeter of the Great Hall. Padma and I walked slowly, our arms wrapped around each other. This was my favourite way of walking with her, close and sweet and safe. We found a little place by the lake and sat for a while, softly kissing and just holding each other. She was wearing my favourite perfume of hers, with just a faint scent of roses. I swooned a little and pulled her close.

“I love you,” I whispered in her ear.

She nibbled my earlobe. “I love you, too.” She looked intently into my eyes with a glance so sad, I worried. “What’s going on, Darwin?” she asked. “You’re so depressed these days, and I know it’s not just exams.”

“It’s nothing,” I said unconvincingly.

Padma frowned. “You can tell me, Darwin. Whatever is bothering you, you can tell me. Is it about Malfoy? Is he harassing you again?”

I pulled away from her and turned to face the lake. I couldn’t look her in the eye any more. Plus, I could feel a lump building in my throat, and I didn’t want my girlfriend to see me cry. I know that sounds a bit sexist, but I couldn’t help it. Anyway, my silence worried Padma even more.

“It’s nothing,” I insisted. “I’m serious. Look, I just don’t want to talk about it right now, OK?”

“So, you mean it’s nothing you want to talk about?” Her persistence was really annoying.

“More or less.” I had a feeling she wouldn’t like that comment.

Padma saw my distress and sought to cheer me up. “I wrote to my parents today. Parvati and I thought it would be nice to have you and Seamus come to stay for a week this summer! My parents would love to meet you!”

“Do you think they’d like me?”

“They’ll love you! You know, I told them that you were orphaned, so they wouldn’t be asking you uncomfortable questions about parents. I hope you don’t mind that I told them.”

“No, that’s fine. That’s great!”

But then, she frowned. “You know, you never did tell me about your birth certificate. What did you find out?” Her smile was so sincere, so earnest, and I hated to spoil her good mood. She was trying to hard to cheer me up, and it was turning into a disaster. I didn’t want that for her, so I didn’t reply right away.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t really said anything much about that.”

“Was it bad? It was bad, wasn’t it?”

I nodded. “Worse than you can imagine.”

Padma massaged my shoulders and neck—it felt like a little ray of heaven breaking through the darkness which surrounded me. “I want to know who they are, but only when you’re ready to tell me.” She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.

Tears spilled out of my eyes, and I pulled her into a desperate embrace. “Thank you,” I said.

I didn’t tell her for a very long time. But soon enough, other challenges presented themselves which threatened to expose my secret to everyone at school.


	6. Brother to Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I thought about Narcissa Black-Malfoy a lot, wondered if she knew her husband was cheating on her with his former mistress. Did she know her husband had fathered another child, just before he fathered Draco? Did she have any idea where I was or if I even existed? Did Draco drop hints to her about what I had said? I felt somewhat satisfied that he now knew how it felt to be without a parent. Maybe that would give him a small shred of humanity. Very small._

I had heard stories of what happens to people in the midst of their O.W.L. exams. Tales of freakouts, fainting and terrible fits of nausea are legendary. Apparently, someone a couple of years ago broke out in hives after the Charms exam. And about ten years ago, a Gryffindor girl started weeping during her Transfiguration practical exam and had to be taken to the Hospital Wing for the rest of the day. Then there’s what happened to Harry Potter. Halfway into our History of Magic exam, he sort of got all glassy eyed, and then he fell out of his chair, started writhing and screaming and talking in a very strange voice, like he was being possessed or something. We all went into a near panic, and it was only when the examiners took him out of the room that we could settle back down and finish our exam.

The odd thing was that Professor Umbridge disappeared that same night. Weird. First Dumbledore left, then Hagrid ran off, and then poor Professor McGonagall got attacked and had to be rushed to St. Mungo’s. What a term!

Summer came, and with it, our freedom from revising for exams, from the claustrophobic atmosphere that I sometimes feel at school, from the pressure of concealing everything about myself from everyone I loved. Being far away from Draco Malfoy and from the overly watchful, intrusive eye of Professor Snape, I could breathe a little. I wasn’t going to worry about staying with the Longbottoms that summer—I wouldn’t allow a little family history ruin my summer or my friendship with Neville. And I also had that week with the Patils and Seamus Finnegan to look forward to, and that excited me more than anything.

Neville and I resumed our usual summer plans—relaxing, fishing, playing wizard chess. He was a terrible player. I wasn’t much better, but I always managed to beat him. But something about my friend had changed after exams. The same night Umbridge disappeared, Neville, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Luna went on a mission to London, though Neville never exactly told me their purpose. I suppose he had a right to his own secrets, too. My guess was that they went to visit Ron’s brothers, Fred and George, and get a first look at their joke shop. Jealous that I had been left out, I pressed Neville for information, but he refused to tell me a thing.

The wizarding world got a real shock when the _Daily Prophet_ reported that You-Know-Who was back and that we were now at war. Of course, I had believed the story back when Harry reported it after the Tri Wizard Tournament. How else could Diggory have died? Now that the word was official, I worried. It seemed even more important for me to conceal my identity than it had before, and not just to save face. I feared for my safety, and I regretted my slipup with Malfoy even more painfully than before. Even though his…our father was now in Azkaban, that didn’t mean that Draco couldn’t tell his mother or the other Death Eaters about me. Snape never told me whether his damage control was effective, so I had no way of knowing whether Malfoy let the whole thing slide or if You-Know-Who was now plotting to recruit me to the Death Eaters.

Naturally, I would never join them. I know I have a hot temper and can lose my cool. I had somewhat distinguished myself my first three years at Hogwarts by getting into at least one major fight a term, usually with a Slytherin. In the past, I had no other choice but to be a fighter—that was the only way I could have survived. But now, I looked at those aggressive tendencies I had and wondered. I remembered how good it felt in my First Year to punch Malfoy in the face over and again. I remembered with a shudder how, had I not been stopped, I would have really enjoyed killing him. McGonagall said evil isn’t genetic, but I wondered about that, too. Then again, I was fresh from living on the streets, fresh from escaping a life of abuse and terror. Of course I was overly defencive. Of course I was ready to lash out violently. Draco Malfoy had reminded me of the very worst I had seen from humankind. And I had grown since those days, too. Good friends and love from Padma had quelled my stormy nature. I might still enjoy thrashing Draco Malfoy, but I don’t think I could ever kill him.

I guess blood really is thicker than water. I still wasn’t used to the idea that I was his brother. Denial was much more convenient. As the summer passed, I put it all in the back of my mind, forcing myself to live in the present and to enjoy what was before me. Wallowing in misery was getting old, anyway, and I didn’t want to become a person I didn’t like. I just wanted peace, for once in my life.

Meeting Padma’s parents was extremely nervewracking. Her father was very distinguished looking, very formal. He always wore very fine, very posh robes, as if he were always going to some important business meeting or something. He spoke in extremely refined language, almost poetic. Mr. Patil was one of the most eloquent persons I had ever met. Padma’s mother was sleek, very beautiful, always expensively attired, much like her husband. Her conversation usually centred around the girls, Hogwarts, educational standards, travel. I could tell just by looking at the two of them that if I were to have any future with their darling Padma, I would have to prove myself worthy, financially, professionally, and especially, morally. These were very fine people, and I didn’t want to disappoint them.

They were the dream parents I would never have.

Could I be jealous of my own girlfriend? Maybe that’s what drew me to Neville, the fact that we both shared a common loss. If Neville ever suspected the reason for both our losses, he might hate me. Maybe not. But that time I spent with Padma and her family was a brand new experience for me. It was different from spending time with Neville and Mrs. Longbottom, where the parental figures were glaringly absent, due to a terrible tragedy. This was my first real glimpse at a unified family—it was beautiful.

Now I understood why Padma and Parvati and Seamus and Hermione and Ron and nearly everyone I knew at school were so…normal, relatively well-adjusted, mostly happy. And I also understood why people like me and Neville and Harry were so different from the others. It wasn’t just that we were brought up without our parents, but also that we knew it. We had some sense of what we were missing, and we shared a mutual longing that could never be satisfied. It explained why none of us was very giddy or silly—when did any of us ever feel free to joke about as small children? We three shared the same questions, the what ifs, the fretting over injustice that our friends could never understand or fully appreciate. It wasn’t that I was jealous of Padma or resented her good life and her happy family. I wanted the best for her—I never wished my fate on anyone. Not even on my brother.

We got our O.W.L. results back at the end of July. I did amazingly better than I thought I did. I got an A in History of Magic, which didn’t shock me, E’s in Arithmancy, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology and Astronomy, and, to my complete shock, O’s—that right, O’s!!!—in Transfiguration, Charms and Potions. Not a bad result, or so I thought. I was still on the low end of Ravenclaw, but at least I wasn’t a total disgrace any more. I worked especially hard in those three classes, wanting so badly to prove myself to my teachers, especially to Professor Flitwick. In my view, they were the three very best at school, and pleasing them would be a great victory for me. Seeing those O’s boosted my flagging self-confidence tremendously. It was one of the best parts of the whole holiday. Neville was a little less excited about his results. His Grandmother was even less excited than he was. Still, he did manage a very good grade in Herbology and in Defence—better than mine, in fact. I was really proud of that.

Upon our return to school in September, life resumed its usual patter—sort of. With all the security measures in force now because of the war, all of us at school were a little on edge. I would tell myself over and over that as long as I was here at school, I would be fine. No one could sneak in and cart me off to join the Death Eaters. That was impossible.

Over the summer, I didn’t hear a word about the Malfoys. All I knew, from Neville and from the paper, was that my father was now in prison, along with a few other Death Eaters. Bellatrix Lestrange had killed the escaped Death Eater, Sirius Black, whom Neville insisted really wasn’t a Death Eater at all. I wasn’t so sure. Either way, the situation now left my brother with no father. Just his fussy mother, Narcissa. I thought about Narcissa Black-Malfoy a lot, wondered if she knew her husband was cheating on her with his former mistress. Did she know her husband had fathered another child, just before he fathered Draco? Did she have any idea where I was or if I even existed? Did Draco drop hints to her about what I had said? I felt somewhat satisfied that he now knew how it felt to be without a parent. Maybe that would give him a small shred of humanity. Very small.

From what I could see that first month back at school, he wasn’t phased one bit. He was just as nasty, just as venomous as always, though I admit he had changed somewhat. He had become very detached from the school itself, as if he were there just as a formality. Often he would skive off classes, just because he could. He even quit the Quidditch team, to everyone’s surprise. It shouldn’t have bothered me in the least, but since Draco was my brother, for better or for worse, it did bother me. Strangely, I wanted to know more about him, his background, his likes and his cares. He had to care about something.

My first week back at school, I was cornered by Professor Snape after our Defence Against the Dark Arts class. He directed me to come to his office. I hoped he wouldn’t give me another lecture about discretion—I had learned my lesson, bitterly.

“I heard you did well on your Potions O.W.L., Smith,” he said.

“An O. Can you believe it?” Never ask that question to a person like Snape.

“No,” he replied coolly. Did I detect a hint of mirth in his tone? Anything was possible. “Well done, Smith. Now then, I would like to propose something to you—a bit of a personal project for you to pursue this term. It might be of value to you, considering who you are.”

“This isn’t a detention, is it?”

Snape rolled his eyes. OK, I know it was a stupid question. “It is wisdom, Smith. Perhaps you need a definition?”

“What’s the project, sir?” I asked. I hated how condescending he could be. It amazed me how much he got away with.

“Are you a fan of the Library, Mr. Smith?”

“Not much. I use it when I need it.”

He raised a sarcastic eyebrow and sort of grunted. “Well you need it now. For your own information, I think it is imperative for you to learn as much about your mother as you possibly can. It will help you not only in life, but also in this class.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t you think it would be valuable to know how your mother operated during her time as a Death Eater?”

I nodded my head. I understood. But was really information I really wanted to burden myself with? That part troubled me, mainly because I was trying to rid myself of any connection to her. On the other hand, Snape had a point. It might actually be good for me to know.

That night, after I had finished my homework, I went to the Library to do a little research. I found a volume called Dark Wizards of the Twentieth Century, which looked rather interesting. I paged through it, looking for a reference to my mother. It didn’t take long. A quick flip to the index in the back of the book showed me well over 30 pages devoted to her. There was no mention of her real name, thank goodness. That made me feel a little daring, a little reckless. What if I were to mention her real name to Harry? Might that not be interesting? But then again, he’d tell Hermione, and she’d research it, and then she’d find out the truth and tell Harry, and then Professor Snape. OK, forget that idea. What was I thinking?

I checked out the book and took it back to the Great Hall to have a read. There weren’t too many around by that time—most had gone to bed or were studying in their house common rooms. But this was a book I didn’t want people to see me reading. I poured a cup of tea and sat at the mostly empty Ravenclaw table, at the far opposite end from a group of Third Years who were playing a little wizard chess.

_…the total estimated numbers of dead attributed to the Duchess is 407, including 13 entire families, 43 muggles, children and elderly witches and wizards. Her chief mode of killing was a vicious combination of two Unforgiveable Curses: first, a lengthy torture under the Cruciatus Curse, and then, after the victim was rendered insane after several days of intense torture, she would end their lives with Avada Kedavra…_

It was worse than I imagined. I knew by reputation that she was a ruthless and brutal killer, but I hadn’t realised that she was a sadist to such an awful degree. I read more, particularly a paragraph about her love life.

_…when she ended the affair with Karkaroff, she entered into a short-lived but passionate tryst with a much younger, unnamed Death Eater, referred to in her letters and journals as “my raven saviour.”_

What a hypocrite! Saviour? Who was she kidding? It must have just been a term she used to keep him in her bed. Likely story. I hated her just a tad more than I did five minutes earlier. Not only was she a ravenous murderer, but a slag, too. I’m surprised she didn’t have an affair with You-Know-Who. In fact, I wonder why she didn’t. Maybe she died before she got around to him. Who knows?

As I read on, my eyes grew heavy with sleep. I faded a bit, and before I knew it, I lay my head down on the table, pushing the book aside. I was dreaming of Padma, who flew over me and showered me with white flowers while Draco, in the shape of a dog, lapped at my heels, yipping and barking away. Then, I saw a raven-haired man tied to a plain, hard chair, being tortured over and over with the Cruciatus Curse. He shrieked and bellowed in terrifying pain. I awoke with a start, and to my horror, saw Draco Malfoy sitting across from me, paging through the passages I had just read. He had a wicked smirk on his face, making me want to punch him so hard his head might fly off his turkey neck. I snatched the book from him and snarled fiercely.

“That’s MINE,” I snapped.

“Hey, whatever,” he said in mock defenciveness. “I didn’t think you went in for the Dark Arts, Smith. New hobby?”

“Piss off, Malfoy,” I grumbled.

He actually looked offended. He stood up, indignant, and tossed the book back on the table. “Fine. Suit yourself.” He stomped off, grumbling to himself.

That went badly, I thought.

The next day, I noticed that Malfoy was staring at me, first at Breakfast, then in one of our classes, and then later at dinner. It made me nervous, and I had this sickening feeling that he somehow knew that we were brothers. Still, I said nothing. Remembering Snape’s fierce warning to me last term, I made a concerted effort to avoid his gaze, to avoid him altogether. That wasn’t so hard, considering I tried avoiding Malfoy pretty much every day anyway. But now, it was like he was following me or something. I couldn’t shake him, no matter what I did. It was really annoying, both because I really disliked him, but mostly because I was afraid he’d find out the truth of our connection. And then, I was sure Snape would really give me a thrashing.

Thankfully, my attempts to dodge Malfoy didn’t interfere with my relationship with Padma, though it did affect my friendship with Neville just a bit. Malfoy was around so often that Neville got uneasy, and I started seeing much less of him after a couple of weeks. That bothered me, because I knew very well how deep Neville’s resentment and fear of Malfoy was—for me it was just clashing personalities, but for Neville, it was a lot more.

As October started, and all of us were buried knee deep in piles of homework, Malfoy finally cornered me. I had been in the Library, reading more about my mother when I spied him with a book on magical objects and how to repair them. The thought of him in a tool belt struck me as hilarious, so I decided to take advantage of the situation.

“Considering a career as a handyman, Malfoy?” I whispered to him as he passed.

The colour drained from his face, and he quickly thrust the book into his robes, presumably to hide the title. “None of your business, Smith,” he hissed. He threw himself into a chair at the opposite end of the aisle and began to pour over the book, or so it seemed. Every minute or so, however, he would throw me a glance, staring intently at my face before returning to his repair book. I could tell he was thinking of something, but of course, I’m no Legilimens, so I had no idea what was going on. Probably figuring some way of making me sprout an elephant’s trunk or something. Typical.

So when he came over to my chair a half hour later, I was both surprised and nervous. The troubled look on his face bewildered me. All I could do was be sarcastic.

“Pondering the dangers of rusty nails, Malfoy?” I asked.

He sat down next to me and leaned close, looking at me in the eye. “I need to talk to you,” he said, almost desperately.

“I’m busy.”

“This is important.”

“So’s my reading,” I said.

He glanced down at the title of my book, Wizarding’s Most Wanted: the Most Dangerous Criminals of Our Time, and frowned. “This is more important than reading about criminals of the past.”

“Not to me.”

“You don’t even know what…”

But then Madame Pince swooped down on both of us. “Out, you two! Talking in the Library! Outrageous! Out!” She snatched both books from us and shooed us out the door.

I walked angrily toward Ravenclaw Tower, but Malfoy stopped me.

“Well I guess you got your wish, Malfoy,” I snapped. “Thanks a lot for getting me chucked out! So what do you want?” I tapped my foot impatiently.

“Not here,” he said. “This way.”

Together, we made our way to the seventh floor, where we stopped in front of what I knew was the place where Neville and I had studied Defence with Harry last year. I had only gone three or four times, but Neville was completely devoted to it, which had impressed me. Anyway, I had no idea that Malfoy even knew about the Room of Requirement, the sneaky git. In the room, we found rows and rows of all sorts of junk, found objects, rusty pipes, broken furniture, and old wands. We sat on the floor by an old cabinet, leaning against it.

It took a couple of uncomfortable minutes for Malfoy to work up the courage to tell me whatever was on his mind—I was willing to wait, since I had a good idea of what it was. This was a conversation I did not want to have, and as he tried to find the right words for me, I tried to find the right thing to say back. He spoke first.

“Look, Smith, there’s something I need to know, and you’re the only one who can tell me.”

“I doubt that.”

“Last term, you…sort of…said something to me.”

I knew what he meant, but I wasn’t going to let on.

“Anyway,” he continued, now wringing his hands nervously, “at first I passed it off as nothing, but…”

“What are you talking about, Malfoy?” I snapped.

“You called me...you called me brother.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s just an expression!” I said, looking exasperated. Secretly, I was terrified. I didn’t know how I was going to get out of this one.

“Is it? That’s what I thought at first, that it was probably some muggle thing…”

“It is! Muggles call each other that all the time. It doesn’t mean anything!”

Malfoy frowned. “I’ve been watching you these days.”

“I noticed.”

“And now that I look at you more closely, I can see a resemblance. I never took notice before, but it’s so obvious to me now! It’s the eyes, I think, and the nose. People have always told me I’m the very image of my father, and seeing him in you…” But he broke off, nearly overcome by emotion. “Tell me the truth, Darwin. Are you…my brother?” He choked out the last word.

“Draco, you think we’re related, so you’re seeing a resemblance that may not be there.” I started.

He got indignant. “You think I want this? This isn’t some joke, Darwin! You must tell me the truth. Are you my brother?”

“What would it matter?”

“Are you kidding? It means everything!”

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t clever enough to come up with any more lies. I could just hit him with a stunning spell, but I’d probably get in trouble. I jumped up and started for the door. “Look, Malfoy, I don’t think…”

Furious now, he stormed after me, grabbed by the robes and slammed me into the wall, face first. But just as quickly, he let go of me and paced frenetically back and forth. “I’m sorry, Darwin,” he said, his voice a little calmer now. “I lost control. I didn’t mean to fight you.” He took hold of me by the shoulders, firmly and resolutely. “Please, Darwin. Please tell me. Are you my brother?”

The shove he gave me really hurt—I rubbed my sore jaw. He looked so pathetic suddenly, so close to coming apart entirely. I heaved a sigh. I couldn’t go on like this. I couldn’t do this to him, even if it was Malfoy. I nodded glumly. “Yeah, I am.”

I didn’t expect Malfoy to break down and sob like a schoolgirl. He stood there, his face buried in his hands, shaking with heavy sobs, for several minutes. I felt incredibly awkward standing by, just watching him. It was such a fascinating sight—I had never seen anything like this out of Draco Malfoy before. Usually he was filled with venom or wrath or sarcasm, but never deep grief. All I could do was reach out and touch him on the shoulder, but when I did, he jumped back, as if he had been stung.

“Don’t touch me!” he barked at me. He dried his face with the sleeves of his robes. “Bastard,” he muttered, barely audible.

“Me? What did I do?”

“HIM, you idiot! Hypocrite stupid bastard!” He started sobbing all over again.

I regretted telling Draco the truth now that I saw how badly he was taking it. I was afraid he might get ill or injure himself in his rage and sadness, so I guided him to sit back down by the old cabinet.

“How long have you known?” he asked, sniffling. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I only just found out in May. I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Who is she?” he asked, his voice now filled with pure hate. “Who is your mother?”

“That is not your business, Malfoy.”

“Of course it is!”

“She’s dead! She died a long time ago! It doesn’t matter!”

Now, a look of new grief washed over his features. “Did he…did they know each other?”

I think I knew what he meant. “It was consensual. He didn’t rape her, if that’s what you’re wondering. Look, Malfoy, I think it would be a very good idea not to repeat any of this to anyone.”

He snorted. “You think I want anyone knowing I’m related to YOU? You must be joking, Smith. This is definitely something I’ll be keeping to myself.”

He was such a prat. “Good, because I don’t want anyone knowing that I’m related to you, either.”

We both stood up and shook his hands.

“Fine,” Malfoy said resolutely.

“Fine,” I replied, equally resolutely, and extremely relieved that he didn’t press the issue about my mother.

With that, we left the Room of Requirement and walked back to the stairs. Without any further looks exchanged, he went his way and I went mine. I thought that was the end of it. I thought.


	7. A Family Squabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The common room was packed with people just back from dinner. In I walked, my face battered, my shirt torn and blood-splattered, my hands cut up and bruised. Everyone gasped at the terrible sight. A shocked Padma rushed to me and led me to the sofa by the fireplace._
> 
> _“What happened to you?” she asked, alarmed at the sight of me._
> 
> _“Did you get in a fight?” Michael asked._
> 
> _I nodded. “Yeah. Draco Malfoy. He looks just about as bad as I do.”_
> 
> _“Who started it?” Padma asked._
> 
> _“Mostly him.”_
> 
> _“Mostly?” she said._
> 
> _“I was just trying to be nice, and he goes and tells me to piss off!”_
> 
> _“And if you had just let him walk off?” she asked, now even more irritated._
> 
> _“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t have stopped him?”_
> 
> _“Maybe.”_

The second I had told Malfoy the truth about our connection, I regretted it. Professor Snape’s words came back at full-force, and the second Malfoy and I had parted that evening, and I trod back to Ravenclaw, I was filled with fear and anxiety and remorse. If Snape ever found out I’d told Malfoy, I knew he’d kill me on the spot. He had overreacted so much when I said “brother,” so I could only imagine what he’d do to me now. Of course, there was no avoiding Snape. I had to see him in class, and what’s more, he had this way of getting into my mind, of somehow figuring out what I was thinking. If I had been an Occlumens, I could have kept him out. But I was never that talented as a wizard.

Being in some of the same classes with Malfoy made things ever more uncomfortable, for both of us. He avoided me now just as much as I avoided him, though neither of us seemed overly thrilled with the situation. I go the feeling that secretly, he wanted to know me as much as I wanted to know him. But there were other things at stake—feelings of betrayal and resentment on his part, and feelings of abandonment and rejection on my part. It wasn’t so simple to resolve. Both of us had been let down by Lucius Malfoy, Draco perhaps more seriously than I.

One positive thing that came out of it, though, was that I had an excuse to get more deeply involved with Padma. For our first anniversary together, I took her on the October Hogsmeade weekend to that romantic little teashop in the town for tea, scones and some serious snogging and cooing and the like. Afterward, I bought her some of her favourite sweets from Honeydukes, and a beautiful new quill from Scrivenshafts. Then, we retired to the Three Broomsticks for some butterbeer, where she also presented me with my gift, in a small, delicately carved cedar box.

“It’s a family heirloom, brought over from India by my great-grandfather,” Padma explained, smiling brightly. “I think you’ll love it.”

I opened the box, and gasped at what I saw. Nestled in the box was an elegant silver ring encrusted with rubies. I had never seen something so opulent, at least not in my possession. I felt stupid about giving her a quill, even if it was gold.

“My gods, Padma,” I said, stunned. “It’s beautiful. But isn’t this a bit…”

“I wanted you to have this, Darwin,” she said, cutting me off. “We all did, my whole family. My parents really loved meeting you, and my father couldn’t stop talking about you after you left this summer. He thinks you’re very honourable.”

I wondered if he would still think so if he knew that my parents were Death Eaters. The ring sparkled brightly in the afternoon sun. Padma reached over and took it out of the box, placing the ring on my finger. She beamed.

“It’s perfect,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. I have to admit that my own eyes had a few tears in them, too. I leaned forward and kissed her.

“I love you, Padma. This is beautiful. Thank you so much.” I kissed her again.

“Thank you for being in my life,” she said, kissing me back.

Our little love fest was interrupted by the entrance of Draco with his girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson. Pansy’s one of those girls who everyone wants to bonk and no one would ever want to marry. She’s incredibly sexy and alluring, to be sure, but a real diva, a handful. How Draco could put up with her was amazing to me. Rumour had it that he batted her about a little, but I doubted that. She seemed so completely entranced by him that I was sure she would bow to his every little self-serving whim. It made sense that he would go for a girl like her—pretty, easy, subservient to him, rich, well-connected. I wondered if he had told her our secret. I sensed that he hadn’t. I hoped.

“Get a room,” Draco grumbled as he and Pansy strode past, not stopping for any response. I let it go, not wanting to ruin my lovely day with Padma.

“I really hate that guy,” Padma said, after they had passed by. “His father’s a Death Eater, you know.”

“I know. I heard about all that.”

Padma scowled. “I suppose he’ll follow in his father’s footsteps.”

“Maybe. I hope not, for his sake.”

“Can you imagine having Lucius Malfoy as a father? That would be a serious curse, I mean, what chance would anyone have if they were raised by that monster?”

My heart skipped a beat. I was glad she qualified her statement. “I know,” I echoed blandly.

“Just to share a bloodline with him would be horrible enough. I think that if I ever learned that I had any Malfoy blood in me, I’d feed myself to the Giant Squid!” She laughed derisively.

“You can’t help your bloodline, though,” I said. “You can’t help who your parents are.”

“They’re the ones that raise you!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Not in all cases.”

Padma suddenly looked horror-struck, realising what she had just said. “Oh my goodness, Darwin!” she said, clamping her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry I said that! That was so insensitive!”

I patted her on the hand and kissed her fingertips. “It’s OK. I know you didn’t mean it.” She didn’t realise how relieved I was that she hadn’t made the Malfoy connection. I smiled and turned our conversation toward the ugly shoes that Pansy Parkinson was wearing. That seemed to please Padma very much, and so we spent the next few minutes abusing Pansy’s fashion choices. Soon, the topic of bloodlines and parents ebbed away, and we went back to my more favourite pastime, kissing.

But the subject of bloodlines and parents came back two weeks later, on a chilly Tuesday afternoon. I had just finished my classes for the day, and was going from the greenhouses back to Ravenclaw to wash up before dinner. I hadn’t seen my brother in a few days, so when I saw him sitting by himself next to an old suit of armour, looking sort of stunned and out of it, I had to stop. I squatted down next to him. Draco looked over at me and groaned, then turned away. I saw that he had bruises on his face, and I wondered who had beaten him.

“What’s going on, Malfoy?” I asked. “What happened to your face?”

“Piss off, Smith!” he snapped. “Leave me alone!”

“I was just…”

He glared fiercely at me. “Look, it’s bad enough I’m bloody related to you, but the last thing I need is to be reminded of it day in and day out!”

“What are you talking about? I hardly ever run into you, Malfoy! You’re being paranoid!”

He struggled to his feet, wincing and grabbing his stomach. I reached out to help him, but he jerked away.

“I wish you would die!” he growled at me, and then stormed off.

I wasn’t going to let the bastard get away with that, so I followed after him, furious. I grabbed him by the back of the robes and pulled him back, toward me. He stumbled and fell right on his arse, but then quickly scrambled to his feet. Before I could say anything, he punched me right in the face—to be more accurate, he punched me in the eye, as if to take away the resemblance. I hit back.

Pretty soon we were punching, hitting, scratching and wrestling each other just as fiercely as we had done our First Year—but we were bigger now, and both of us could hit a lot harder. His punches were vicious and painful, and it wasn’t so easy for me to overpower him now. He kicked me in the shins, and I punched him in the ribs, going on like this for several minutes, that is, until the fight was broken up by Mr. Filch, Hagrid, Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape. Both us were battered and bleeding and crying and still raging. Even though Hagrid held us apart with his massive arms, we both attempted to wrestle free so we could resume beating each other.

In truth, I was in more serious trouble than Malfoy. He was a minor troublemaker, though more consistent. But I was a fighter, and had been since my First Year. It was usually one or two major fights a year, like I said before. In the last couple of years, and especially after I started dating Padma, I fought less, but my long record of violence stood against me. It was highly likely that this current fight, the worst I had been in since First Year, could get me expelled. Would Narcissa be called, as she and Lucius had been before? If so, would she see the resemblance between us.

Malfoy and I were taken to Professor Dumbledore’s office, where we were made to stand before his desk, with Hagrid standing between us, to prevent us from fighting all over again. What was strange was that, rather than looking angry, as Snape did, he looked more troubled and concerned. What was even more strange was Malfoy’s behaviour—he looked extremely uncomfortable standing there before the Headmaster and Professor Snape. I could tell that Malfoy’s greatest wish was to get out of that office. I felt the same way. I wanted to finish the fight. I still had a couple of good punches in me.

But there we stood, being interrogated by the two professors. We both explained what happened, and to everyone’s astonishment, Malfoy decided to take all the blame.

“I was in a bad mood, and I unfortunately took it out on Smith,” he said in a rather businesslike voice. “Smith was merely defending himself.”

“Then you take full responsibility, Mr. Malfoy?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, sir, I do. I wish to apologise to Smith,” he replied coolly.

“Mr. Smith? Do you accept Mr. Malfoy’s apology?” Dumbledore asked.

I shrugged. I wanted the whole thing to drop, just as much as Malfoy did, so I nodded my head. “Yes, sir. I do.”

“You both realise you still have a detention to serve,” Dumbledore said. “You will be working with Professor Hagrid, Saturday night. Both of you have also lost 100 house points apiece, and you, Mr. Smith, may have an extra detention to serve with Professor Flitwick. This pattern of violence is unacceptable in any environment. Do you understand that, Darwin?”

“Yes, sir,” I said sheepishly. I wondered if my mother got into trouble for violent outbursts. Was I really cursed?

“You may go, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore said. “Mr. Smith, I wish you to stay for a moment.”

Malfoy bolted out of the office without another word, followed by Hagrid. Dumbledore motioned for me to sit in the chair opposite his desk. I sat. Snape remained standing, his arms folded across his chest. He glared at me.

“You told him, didn’t you,” Snape said.

“Yes, sir, I did,” I said glumly. I felt horrible.

“After I specifically told you not to, you told him?”

“He sort of drew it out of me, sir. I didn’t want to tell him. I tried to lie, but then he put me in a position where I just couldn’t lie any more. I’m really sorry.” I wanted to cry, but I stayed strong.

“Professor Snape tells me you are doing research about your mother, Mr. Smith,” Dumbledore said.

“Yes, I’ve been reading all about her this term.”

“What is your impression of her so far?” Dumbledore asked.

“She’s a monster. I wish I were related to someone else.”

“Did you tell Mr. Malfoy that she is your mother?” Dumbledore asked.

“No, sir. I swear I didn’t.”

“That’s good, then. You must keep that to yourself. Letting out that sort of information is very dangerous for you,” Dumbledore said. “You don’t fully understand the complexity of her relationship with Lord Voldemort, Darwin.” Both Snape and I winced at the sound of the name.

“What?” I said, now even more troubled. “Can you tell me?”

Dumbledore gave me a sympathetic look. “The less you know for now, the better. I don’t mean to treat you like a child, Darwin, but this is for the best. Keep up your reading on your mother, and you may be able to figure out that relationship for yourself.”

Outside Dumbledore’s office, I stood in the middle of the corridor like a statue, my mind reeling, too many emotions crashing through my mind and soul. I couldn’t go on like this, with so much anger and rage. I had conquered it before, and I wanted to do it again. More than ever before, I needed that one confidante, just as Snape had suggested to me years ago. Up until then it had been Neville, and I hoped I could still lean on him, even though we hadn’t seen much of each other these days. I dried my eyes and made my way back to Ravenclaw Tower to clean up my face, change my clothes and go down to the kitchens to get a late dinner from the House Elves.

The common room was packed with people just back from dinner. In I walked, my face battered, my shirt torn and blood-splattered, my hands cut up and bruised. Everyone gasped at the terrible sight. A shocked Padma rushed to me and led me to the sofa by the fireplace.

“What happened to you?” she asked, alarmed at the sight of me.

“Did you get in a fight?” Michael asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. Draco Malfoy. He looks just about as bad as I do.”

“Who started it?” Padma asked.

“Mostly him.”

“Mostly?” she said.

“I was just trying to be nice, and he goes and tells me to piss off!”

“So you hit him?” Padma asked, a tinge of irritation in her voice. OK, more than just a tinge.

“Not exactly. I stopped him from walking away, and then he attacked me. I was just defending myself.”

“And if you had just let him walk off?” she asked, now even more irritated.

“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t have stopped him?”

“Maybe.”

“I didn’t know he was going to hit me, Padma! You make it sound like I attacked him unprovoked!”

“You still could have walked away, Darwin.”

“And let Malfoy get away with punching me in the eye? What was I supposed to do, let him get away with it? Go tattle on him like a prat coward?”

“Look at you!” she said sharply. “Telling on Malfoy is better than getting beaten to a pulp by him!”

“We were equally matched!” I said. I was getting increasingly irritated by this scolding she was giving. Hadn’t I already gotten enough of a dressing-down from Dumbledore and Snape?

“It’s just that you should keep getting into these fights,” she said. “If you keep doing it, they’ll expel you! Don’t you care about that?”

“Of course I do!” What did she think, that I wanted to return to my old life? “You make it sound like I wanted it to happen!”

I think she knew she had gone a bit too far, because then, she started backtracking. But the way she did it…

“I know you were treated awfully as a child, but you shouldn’t take it out on others,” she said, trying to be conciliatory or sensitive or something.

I didn’t take it that way. “So wait, because I got knocked about as a kid, I’m destined to be a brute? Is that what you mean?” OK, maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say, but I was getting riled up.

“It’s just that you need to channel your anger in more constructive ways.”

She meant well. I know that. But still…

“Oh, so if I had been raised like you, I wouldn’t have gotten into this fight? What do you think I am, Padma, damaged goods?”

We had forgotten that we were in the middle of a very crowded common room.

“That’s not what I meant!” she shouted.

“Then what? What am I to you?” I shouted back. “Do you think that I’m damaged goods or something? Am I warped and corrupted?”

I hadn’t expected her to recoil so sharply. She suddenly looked like a frightened animal, confronted by a wolf or a bear.

“That’s not what I meant, Darwin!” she said angrily. “You know I don’t think that! And I don’t appreciate you jumping all over me!”

She sounded afraid of me, or so I thought at the moment. To be honest, I was so worked up by then that she probably had reason to feel afraid of me. I frowned fiercely. The next thing I said is something I regret to this day.

“What do you think, that I’m going to hurt you next?”

Padma suddenly put on a very haughty face—I could have slapped her, to be honest. It was a good thing that I would never hit a woman, because the temptation was strong. Isn’t that horrible? I guess I can’t blame her for being somewhat nervous about me. But at that moment, I wasn’t thinking about that. I was too busy being indignant.

“Padma? Do you think I would hurt you? Tell me the truth?” I really wanted to know. When she didn’t reply right away, I became incensed. “What do you think I am, Padma? Some sort of brute?”

“Well considering how many fights you get into, maybe you are!”

Curious, horrified eyes stared at us in wonderment, as if they were watching a soap opera or something. Neither Padma nor I paid attention to our audience.

“Well I wouldn’t want you to feel oppressed!” I shouted.

“Fine! Then you can give me the ring back!” she shouted back.

That took me by total surprise. I actually gasped. “What?” I said, suddenly chastened.

Padma held out her hand. “You heard me. I want my family’s ring back.”

I had no idea what to say. There she stood, back straight, shoulders squared, all her features concentrated on getting that ring back. A sharp pain drove through my heart as I wrenched it off my finger and slammed it into her hand. “Take it,” I said, my voice dead at that point. “Give it to someone more refined, more properly brought up.” And with that declaration, I went straight up to my room, threw myself into my bed and covered myself entirely under the duvet. The room was so quiet and still, and for once in several hours, I could actually hear myself think.

But that didn’t last too long. Before I knew it, Michael, Anthony and Terry were sitting on the edges of my bed, waiting for me to surface from the bedding. After a few uncomfortable minutes, Michael shook me by the shoulder.

“Hey, Darwin,” he said, “what was that all about?”

I lay still, not wanting to reply. But they were waiting to give me comfort, so I obliged. I sat up and looked at all their concerned faces. “I’m not quite sure, to be honest,” I said.

“So you really fought Malfoy?” Terry asked excitedly.

“Like I told Padma, he swung first. I was just defending myself.”

“I hope you laid him out,” Anthony said resolutely.

I chuckled at that. “Well, I didn’t exactly lay him out, but I gave him a pretty good thrashing.”

Soon, our talk ventured away from my unexpected romantic troubles and rested on the battered face of Draco Malfoy. We had a great time—I recounted every blow, both his and mine. I may have exaggerated somewhat, but come on! What guy wouldn’t, especially in front of his mates? In my version, I had Malfoy bloodthirsty and fierce, and myself as perhaps more noble than I really was. I kept out the part when he sucker-punched me and made me fall into the privet. I also kept out the part when he made me cry. My version of the story was much more appealing, and much more favourable to me, which is what I wanted. I’m sure they expected me to embellish a bit, right?

By the end of my first class the following day, it seemed like the entire school had heard both about my fight with Malfoy and about my breakup with Padma. The guys generally treated me with approval and high spirits, while the girls generally scowled at me. My heart ached at the loss of Padma, so I felt grateful toward the guys at school for their camaraderie and fellowship. The unexpected male bonding I experienced those next couple of days saved me from wallowing in self-pity, and for that I felt eternally grateful. But I missed my Padma. I missed her kindness, her soft hands, her sweet kiss. I felt such a void in my heart after we broke up, and I didn’t know what to do to take away the pain. 

* * * * *

Saturday night, Malfoy and I had to help Hagrid prepare his lesson for Monday, which meant shelling Siberian Armoured Slugs and placing the sticky, wriggling things into large marble bowls. Both of us had brought our dragon-hide gloves, but Hagrid made us do the job with bare hands. Our faces were still swollen and bruised from the fight, as were our knuckles—I was pretty sure I almost broke a finger giving Malfoy a particularly nasty punch in the back. We sat in miserable silence, shelling the slugs and filling the bowls. The strong, pungent stench of the slugs made the job even worse. After three hours, Malfoy and I had filled four bowls with the slugs, and both of us were exhausted.

Together, we trudged back to the castle, not saying anything. But as we neared, Malfoy stopped. So did I.

“I worshipped him, you know?” he said quietly.

“Who?”

“Father. I literally sat as his feet growing up, taking in every word like it was gospel truth.”

“Have you heard from him?” I asked.

“My mother saw him last month. She’s been working to free him from Azkaban, so she visits him with his attorney.”

“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” I said.

Malfoy snarled. “I hope he rots,” he said, walking on toward the castle.

“You don’t mean that. He’s your father,” I said.

Malfoy stopped again, grabbing me by the robes. “He’s a lying, sniveling, hypocritical, stupid, phony!” he seethed, now letting me go. “I hate him!”

“You don’t hate him,” I said.

“Shut up, Smith!” he snapped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! I hate him! I hate what he’s making me do! I hate having to do it for someone like him! And I hate…never mind.” His face looked so deeply distressed, so profoundly troubled, and some strange instinct made me want to take my brother in my arms and give him comfort. But before I could do that, Malfoy stomped off toward the castle, alone.

* * * * *

_…those close to her claim she was about to have a child, but no one in her inner circle will claim that she ever did. After her death, these individuals scattered, many afraid for their lives. They had betrayed He Who Must Not Be Named by allying themselves with the Duchess, and they knew that they were now marked for death. Likewise, the child, if he or she really existed, was also marked for death. Most experts now agree that the Duchess sought to create a dynasty, beginning with her own child. This dynasty, had it come to fruition, would have usurped that of He Who Must Not Be Named and claimed the lives of even more individuals._

_One insider told a Ministry spy that the Duchess “wished most sincerely for a daughter rather than a son. She regarded all men as inferior snakes who…”_

And yet she left me all that money. Maybe she didn’t care about the money. Perhaps when she saw that she had borne a son, she abandoned me, but then she got killed by Frank Longbottom before she could try to get pregnant again. I wanted to know more. Inside my brown envelope were more papers I hadn’t looked at yet. Some were likely papers from the State, but I reckoned that most of them were from my mother herself. As December came, I vowed to go to London to retrieve my envelope from my Gringott’s vault again and see what else was in there. I craved to learn as much about her as I possibly could. I wouldn’t rest until I knew her entire story.


	8. Knockturn Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The deeper into Knockturn Alley I ventured, the more I regretted it. People gave me the strangest looks. Some seemed looks of hatred and venom, but a few seemed like looks almost of recognition. They must have thought, there goes another Malfoy. I lamented, wishing for new eyes or a nose job or something. At least my hair was dark, my jaw square, my cheekbones rather high and angular._

When we’re kids, all we want is our independence. We want freedom, the ability to make our own choices and be answerable to no one but our own, arrogant selves. As I was growing up in care, I lusted for freedom, for the chance to run away and never have to take orders or abuse from anyone ever again. I wanted my own time, my own space, my own rules.

That’s why love is so confusing and frustrating. I didn’t appreciate how needy I really was until I had broken up with Padma. Until then, I thought I was doing quite well for myself, forming my own identity independently from any outside influences. I felt that I was master of my own fate for the first time in my life, that I could control everything around me, rather than being controlled. It felt so good, so affirming. So when Padma demanded the ring back and then refused to talk to me for three weeks, I came face-to-face with how dependent I truly was, in spite of my pretended autonomy. In truth, I had grown to thrive on her love, on her supportive presence, on her closeness. Without it, I felt somehow empty, less complete, adrift in a dark and tumultuous place.

I suppose we’re all like that, really. We think we’re so strong and self-assured, but all we really want is to be loved and cherished and needed by someone, by anyone. Even Neville and I had grown apart somewhat, which depressed me even more now that I no longer had Padma in my life. When he invited me to his home for Christmas that year, all he really said was, “So, you’re coming for Christmas, right? Like always?” I thought, _geez, Neville, you make it sound like the end of the world._ I didn’t say that of course. I wasn’t quite that stupid. I had become greedy for any friendship I could maintain, Neville’s most importantly.

I did, however, have some business to conduct in London before I went to Neville’s. The first thing I wanted to do was go back to Gringott’s and retrieve my envelope from my vault. I also wanted to pay a visit to an old friend—I hadn’t seen Walter, the man who saved my life, since I was still living on the streets, and I really wanted to reconnect with him. I had changed so much since those terrible days, and I hoped all was well with him and his business. But I would need some muggle clothes, of course. I couldn’t walk around London looking like…a wizard. Even in liberal London, I’d still look sort of freakish, and I didn’t want to jeopardise the wizarding world, either. I was in enough trouble as it was.

I rode to London on the Hogwarts Express with Neville, Hermione, Luna Lovegood, Justin and a few others. Padma and Parvati rode in a separate compartment, with their friends Lavender and Demelza.

“So when are you going to swallow your pride and make up with Padma?” Hermione asked bluntly. You had to hand it to Hermione for just coming right out with it.

But then, Neville nodded his head, seeming to agree. “Yeah, Darwin, when are you? We can’t have you moping about the place like this any more.”

Justin sniggered. “Yeah, Darwin, you’ve been a real bear these days. You’re as bad as Malfoy!”

It took all the strength I had not to react to that comment. I knew that Justin had no idea that Malfoy and I were brothers, but it incensed me all the same. Grasping for words, all I could muster was a lame, “I’m sorry, guys.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione asked. She could be blunt, but always sweet. She placed a hand on mine and gave me a little squeeze—a sisterly squeeze. Oh well.

I sighed rather more dramatically than I intended. There was so much I couldn’t say to any of them, and it was all those secrets that were making things so incredibly difficult for me. If Dumbledore knew what this was doing to me, I thought, he might change his mind and let me talk.

But I dumbly shook my head. “It’s complicated,” I said. “I don’t know, I guess I let my past get in the way. I shouldn’t have jumped all over her.”

“You know, she’s on the train,” Neville offered. “Why don’t you…”

I shook my head. “I can’t, not now. We both need a little time apart. I think maybe we got too close too fast. Maybe this break will be good for both of us. I haven’t given up on us, though.”

“But has she?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied. It hadn’t occurred to me that she might have already moved on. She couldn’t have, could she? Who would she be interested in? There were lots of blokes, some of them pretty good looking, and with better reputations than mine.

Finally, the train pulled into the King’s Cross station. We all gathered our things together and headed toward the exits. I stuck close by Neville as we made our way to the platform. The entire place was alive with activity, parents looking for their children, children looking for their anxious parents. And then, in the midst of the fray, there she was, with her parents and her sister, hugging Lavender Brown good-bye—Padma paused, bathed in sudden, soft light, and for a moment, our eyes connected. I felt her warmth, needed her so much, missed her so terribly.

OK, be a man, I thought to myself. I took a deep breath and headed over to her. To my relief, she stood there, watching me approach. Her parents looked like they were ready to go—had she told them we fought?

“Hi,” I said quietly.

“Hi.”

“You, uh, ready for the holiday?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m spending a couple of days in London, and then I’m going…” I pointed my thumb back at Neville, who stood with Hermione, his grandmother and her parents in the near distance.

Padma nodded. She smiled. “That sounds nice.”

That was it. I couldn’t take it any more. “Padma, I’m so sorry,” I started.

Padma burst into tears and threw herself into my arms. She showered my neck and face with kisses. And when my lips met hers, all was resolved, all was mended.

“I missed you so much!” she whispered in my ear.

“Padma!” Parvati called. “We’re going!”

“Let’s not fight any more!” Padma said through tears.

“Write me, OK? I’m at Neville’s. I’ll send you an owl as soon as I’m settled there…”

“Padma!” Parvati called again.

Padma kissed me again. “I love you, baby!” she said. And then she was gone, back into the waiting arms of her family. I turned back toward Neville and Hermione, both of whom were grinning widely.

I headed back to them, unable to suppress my own broad smile. Hermione gave me a little hug.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said.

Neville shook my hand. “Does this mean you’ll be in a better mood now?”

I laughed. “I hope so, mate!”

Hermione’s parents stared at me with great wonder—I hadn’t seen them since I was 11. Needless to say, I’d changed quite a lot. First of all, I had grown much taller than I already was. Plus, my voice had changed, and my whole aspect had become much more adult.

“My goodness,” Mrs. Granger said, amazed, “I can’t believe it! Darwin, I hardly recognise you! You’ve become a giant!”

“How tall are you?” Mr. Granger asked.

“Uh, about six-three by now,” I said. Almost six-three.

“My goodness!” Mrs. Granger said, impressed by my height. “You look so grown up!”

After I made the arrangements with Neville and Mrs. Longbottom to arrive at their home by the Knight Bus, I turned to Hermione and her parents.

“Do you suppose you could do me a little favour?” I asked Mr. Granger.

“What is it, son?” he asked. I loved hearing the word “son.” I wished Mr. Granger were my father, not Lucius Malfoy.

“Could you possibly set me down at the Leaky Cauldron? I have some business to conduct at Diagon Alley, and I’d feel a bit strange walking around dressed like this.”

“Oh, of course, my dear!” Mrs. Granger said brightly. She was a terrific lady, someone I wished were my mother.

As we made our way through the heavy London traffic, Mrs. Granger decided to make conversation.

“Hermione tells me you learned about your parents!” she said. “What sort are they?”

“Are they wizards or muggles?” Mr. Granger asked.

I blanched, unsure how to respond. I felt extremely uncomfortable, not knowing what the names Lucius Malfoy or The Duchess would mean to the Grangers. Hermione noted my distress and rescued me.

“I’m sure it’s none of our business, mum,” she said.

“Of course not, darling,” Mrs. Granger said. “I only thought Darwin would like to share his good news with us!”

“It’s sort of complicated, Mrs. Granger,” I said, clearly uncomfortable. Hermione eyed me carefully. I made sure to avoid her gaze, just in case she could see my Malfoy eyes for what they were.

“Mum,” Hermione said abruptly, “would you and Daddy mind if I went with Darwin to Diagon Alley? I’d like to do my Christmas shopping for Harry, Ron and Ginny. And I’d like to visit Fred and George.”

“Not at all, darling,” Mrs. Granger said liberally.

True to their word, the Grangers dropped us both in front of the Leaky Cauldron. Mr. Granger gave Hermione some muggle money so she could get a cab home. We entered the Leaky Cauldron together, but once inside, Hermione stopped me.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked with some trepidation.

“Um, OK, I suppose.”

She tugged a little on my sleeve so that I stooped down a bit. She whispered in my ear, “Is Lucius Malfoy your father?”

I laughed nervously. This was something I definitely didn’t need. “Look, Hermione, what you said to your parents in the car was good advice.”

“I don’t mean to pry, Darwin. It’s not that. It’s just that I suddenly saw it, in your…”

In my eyes. I knew it before she said it. I grabbed Hermione by the arm and pulled her into a corner. “Look,” I said harshly, “it’s really important that you NOT tell anyone about this!”

She looked troubled but compassionate. “Does Draco know?”

“I had to tell him, but Hermione, please swear to me that you will not tell a soul about this! If You-Know-Who were to find out, it could go very badly for me. Please!”

“I won’t, Darwin. I swear it.”

I let go of her arm, suddenly aware that I was gripping her too tightly. “Sorry,” I said.

Hermione rubbed her arm a bit, but didn’t seem angry at me. Mostly, she was frightened and concerned. Just as quickly as she had brought up the subject, she mercifully let it drop. She gave me a quick smile.

“What do you say we do a little Christmas shopping whilst we’re here at Diagon Alley!”

“Do you mind if I stop at Gringott’s first? I need muggle money, and I need to visit my vault.”

“Well I need to visit my vault, too, so that’s fine with me.”

And so, leaving the horrible subject of my parents blissfully aside, Hermione and I made our way casually through Diagon Alley, stopping first at the bank. We visited Hermione’s vault first. Hers wasn’t packed to the ceiling like mine was, but it had a fair amount of wizard gold there, her allowance and trust fund from her parents. But when she caught sight of the contents of my vault, she actually gasped.

“My gods, Darwin! You’re richer than the queen!” she exclaimed.

I filled my money bag with gold and picked up my brown envelope again. It felt heavier than I remembered, laden with information that could change the rest of my life. Hermione looked at the envelope with great curiosity, but thankfully never asked about it. Back in the lobby, we both exchanged Galleons for British Pounds. Throughout our day together, I never offered her any information. We walked everywhere. I bought Neville a book on Herbology at Flourish and Blotts, and I bought Hermione a book on feminist witches, something she greatly appreciated. But Padma’s Christmas gift? I decided to hold out for something really special. By midday, I was really tired.

“Come on, Hermione,” I said, “let me buy you an ice cream at Fortescue’s.”

She obliged me. We sat for a long time, resting our tired feet and casually eating our butter brickle ice cream sundaes and talking about entirely trivial subjects. We wondered how Mr. Fortescue was doing, wherever he was, and we wondered how the First Years managed to obtain their wands in the absence of Mr. Ollivander. I was dying to open my mind to Hermione and really talk to her about all my fears and anxieties, but I stopped myself. On the one hand, she knew a small sliver of my history, but she had no idea about the rest, about my true fears. She didn’t know about the dynasty my mother wanted to start, and she didn’t suspect the faintest connection between me and the Duchess.

I hate secrets. They create needless burdens on the soul.

Hermione and I parted around 3. She went home and I headed to Harrod’s to buy some muggle clothes, since I had none. I was keenly aware of how strange I must have looked to everyone at the store, walking in wearing the dark green robes I had bought at Madame Malkin’s the summer before, which I must say look very well on me. At the same time, they looked equally strange to me. Since the age of 11, I had lived almost exclusively in the wizarding world, so the sight of people in muggle attire seemed odd to my eyes. At least I remembered how to put the clothes on, but even when I slipped on a pair of dark blue jeans and a rich brown cashmere sweater, it felt weird. I felt completely out of place in these clothes. Muggle things always reminded me of my upbringing, something I still sought to forget.

I asked the muggle salesman how I looked in the jeans and sweater.

“You look fantastic, darling,” he said. “But you could use a nice white pinstriped shirt under the sweater, and maybe some dark brown loafers. You could be in _Esquire_!”

I had no idea what _Esquire_ was, but I took his words as a compliment. I bought the sweater, a very nice silk shirt, the jeans and a really luxurious pair of shoes. I wore the whole thing out of the store, stowing my wizard’s robes in the shopping bag. Looking like a posh, respectable muggle, I made my way to Walter’s restaurant, hoping it was still there and that he was still proprietor.

Walking in felt like stepping back five years in time. The last time I had been here I was still 11, a ragged, scared street kid looking for sympathy and a few quid. The décor of the restaurant was just the same—plain, white counter, white and red booths, grey stone floor, the smell of chips and burgers tingeing the air of the little place. I hadn’t realised how short Walter was. When you’re a kid, all adults are giants. Now that I stood well over six feet tall, Walter seemed so small now. I had the idea that he had no idea who I was, so I decided to play a little prank on him.

I sat at the exact seat at the counter where I had begged him for a job. Walter came over—he was a bit more grey about the temples, but otherwise unchanged—and pulled out a pad and pencil ready to take my order.

“I was wondering, sir, if you might be able to give me a job,” I said, trying to sound as pathetic as possible.

“I don’t need anyone right now, sonny,” he said. He looked me up and down. “Besides, you look like you don’t exactly need a job.” But then Walter paused, looking at my face carefully. His eyes widened in shock. “Dar…Darwin?”

I grinned. “That’s me,” I said, laughing.

Walter rushed around the corner of the counter and threw his arms around me. “Darwin Smith! My goodness! It’s been a long time!”

“More than five years!”

He stood back to look me over. “Wow! You’re a giant! I was so sure you were dead or back in that awful home when you didn’t show up for a few days.”

“I know, Walter,” I said, feeling a pang of regret shoot through my heart. “I should have kept in touch with you. It just wasn’t possible. I’m so sorry I worried you.”

He laughed. “I’m just so happy to see you! Are you OK? Are you in school?”

“Yeah, I go to a school up north. I found out who my parents are, and it turns out I have quite an inheritance.”

“That’s wonderful, Darwin. I worried about you, kiddo. So tell me about this school.”

That was tricky. I told him as much about Hogwarts as I could without revealing anything about magic. I sort of fudged on the names of my parents, giving him made up versions of their real names. Talking to Walter felt so good, so natural. He had this amazing way of making me feel safe, even all these years later. The funny thing was, that even though I had become somewhat settled in my life, I still wanted that sense of safety that I could only get from Walter. Seeing him again grounded me in something so visceral and natural that there were no words for what I experienced. Only waves of relief and strength.

After I left Walter, I went past the old abandoned building that was my home for a few weeks. It had been transformed into luxury flats. Ironic, when you think about it. A good irony, though. I continued on my way toward the Leaky Cauldron, pausing at the alley where I was first initiated into the magical world. It felt so strange standing there. Had gone to Hogwarts, I had no idea where I would be now. I wondered whether I would have succumbed to the pressure to become a hustler or a drug dealer, or if I would have gotten a muggle education. By now, I should have taken GCSE’s. I wondered how I would have done.

But life had turned me in another direction, and so I headed now back to the Leaky Cauldron, where I stayed that night. I slept incredibly well. No dreams at all, at least none that I could remember. It was heaven.

The next day, I planned to do a bit more reading about the Duchess before I headed to Neville’s the following morning. I rose early, ate breakfast quickly and headed out toward Flourish and Blotts. I spent a good three hours in there, rummaging through the history section and the section on dark magic, seeking for more answers. Much of what I saw was about the same as earlier information, though. Of course, if she really were plotting a takeover of You-Know-Who’s operation, I doubted there would be much about it in print. Unless…

I had never been to Knockturn Alley before. Hagrid always described it as a dodgy place, not somewhere you’d ever want to be seen by anyone respectable. All the same, I could always make the excuse that I just got lost and took a wrong turn. Very convenient. So down I went, into the darkness.

It felt so different from the bright displays and cheery colours of Diagon Alley. Everything was stone and grey, with water dripping and green sludgy things in little rivulets every so often. It smelled musty, sort of pungent and odd. The people looked equally suspicious, as if no one wanted to be seen there even by other dark wizards. And there I was, standing out in my green robes, looking too conspicuous. I hoped no one noticed my resemblance to my father. The deeper into Knockturn Alley I ventured, the more I regretted it. People gave me the strangest looks. Some seemed looks of hatred and venom, but a few seemed like looks almost of recognition. They must have thought, _there goes another Malfoy._ I lamented, wishing for new eyes or a nose job or something. At least my hair was dark, my jaw square, my cheekbones rather high and angular.

The first place that caught my eye was Borgin and Burke’s, a seedy little shop not far from Diagon Alley. It had all the usual dark stuff, like shrunken heads and the like, but it had more. Katie Bell, a Gryffindor Quidditch player, had been injured by a necklace from Borgin’s, and rumours flew about that Malfoy’s…my father sold off many of his dark objects to Borgin’s. Hanging in the window was what looked like a silver thread—but if you used it to sew up a garment, the garment would curse the wearer. I wondered if they carried any books.

Inside, the place was shadowy and still and dusty, with the familiar stuffy smell of charity shops. Each object looked even stranger than the previous one, each one more deadly, too. There was a black pearl that would give boils to anyone who touched it, and there was this rusty contraption I was sure was an iron maiden. There was also a large cabinet, which at first meant nothing to me. It was old and creaky and run down. But wait…it looked familiar. I thought for a few moments where I had seen it.

Hogwarts! Yes, in the Room of Requirement! Draco and I had leaned against it while we talked. But what could be so dark about a cabinet?

“That’s not for sale,” Borgin croaked.

“It’s quite nice,” I said politely. “Is it a display model? Is there another like it?”

He glowered at me. “It’s not for sale.”

I looked on. More strange things, a poisoned sword, a banshee in a jar, cuttings of Dragon’s Snare in pots.

“Do you carry any books?” I asked.

“What sort of books? Spellbooks?” He looked me up and down, first noticing my eyes. I gulped. He narrowed his gaze at me. I felt naked all of a sudden, totally exposed to his curious stare. I wanted to leave, fast. His eyes widened, and he actually gasped.

“Never mind,” I said, averting my eyes.

“Wait, sir,” he said, now pleasantly. “I have books for you. What do you need, sir?”

“No, it’s fine,” I replied furtively, heading for the door.

“Anything for the young Duke,” he said. “I can get you anything you wish, sir.”

Oh my gods, I thought. I was in a total panic. He didn’t see me as a Malfoy, but as…

“Thank you,” I said. I dashed out of the place and walked as fast as I could back to the safety of Diagon Alley. Who was I kidding, going in there, with my face? This was a terrible development for me. Who else knew? Who else could see the resemblance to my mother? Surely, those my age wouldn’t know, but I wondered if those older than thirty or thirty-five might see it. They would have to if they were at school with my mother, and if they knew what she had become and what her plans were…

I returned straight to the Leaky Cauldron, collected my things and hailed the Knight Bus right away. The sooner I isolated myself at Neville’s the happier I would soon be.


	9. Rumours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Mr. Smith, you can’t think that only your Malfoy side is recognisable,” Dumbledore added. I felt even more stupid. “Perhaps the other students here, including your brother, would not see the resemblance, but many of us who remember your mother do, especially now, as you grow older.”_
> 
> _I was stunned. There I was, looking like Mariah Potter all this time and nobody bothered to mention it? How long did they know? Why didn’t anyone tell me before? Why did I have to go through this alone?_

_Feb. 14, 1980_

_Dear M,  
This is the wrong time for what you suggest. I have far too much to lose. When we last spoke, I thought I had made that clear to you. In fact, I urge you to abandon your plans right now. He is too powerful and too well supported. While you have a few allies, you do not have enough to overtake him. As much as I love you, I will not join you. Please understand, and rejoin us._

_Love,  
L_

* * * * *

_March 17, 1980_

_Dear M,  
He knows of your plans, but not by me, whatever you might believe. I knew you were wrathful and cruel, but your last letter tore me apart. You know my situation, and my responsibilities. I can’t simply drop all that, especially now that I have a son on the way. You were the one who didn’t want to marry me two years ago. We both made our choices. To play on my feelings for you is too brutal, and I will not allow you to manipulate me. I am nearly beyond endurance, and you are pushing me even farther toward the edge of reason._

_M, stop this madness and rejoin us. I will be faithful to you, but I will not betray him. Think of what we are to each other, and return._

_Love,  
L_

* * * * *

_May 20, 1980_

_L,  
Your selfishness and short-sightedness appalls me. You have no idea how many are loyal to me. Perhaps you are so busy building your revolting nest with that slag excuse for a wife of yours, preparing for your squalling little rat, that you have forgotten all those things you truly believe. Perhaps you have forgotten just what I can do for you, what you always begged me to do for as long as I have known you._

_That you dare to reprimand me reveals how feeble you truly are. To think that I wasted my energy on you, gave my body to you inspires pure nausea and disgust in me. But I will see to it that you do not get what is yours. For the child who grows inside of me, our child, our son, will be my heir, my true love, my legacy. He will grow in strength and fervor and vitality, and I swear that he will one day see the last fire of life in the Dark Lord’s eye. I will mark him as my own, as my heir apparent, my precious Duke. The sign of my own mark on him will be…_

But that was it. No more information. I was marked? What did she do to me? I don’t remember any strange marks or tattoos on my body, but maybe I missed something. Was she being literal? I had no idea, but I determined to find out. I folded up the nest of letters between my parents and placed them back in the large brown envelope, placing it under the mattress of my bed in Neville’s room. I went into the bathroom, locked the door and took all my clothes off, desperate to find any sort of mark I might have overlooked in life. Maybe what I thought was a birthmark was not. Or worse, maybe what I thought was a mole or a freckle was something she had done to me. I looked everywhere on my body, chest, legs, naughty bits, back, everywhere. Nothing strange, nothing new.

Perhaps it was some sort of spell or charm she put on me. That must have been it. I resolved to ask Professor Flitwick about it when I returned to school. After all, he was the Charms expert at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, I never got a chance to ask him. My very first day of lessons that term, a typically cranky Professor Snape kept me after class. You’d think the Yuletide season would have cheered him up somewhat, but no. He never changed a whit. I gave Padma a furtive see-you-later kiss and tentatively approached Snape’s desk. Snape sort of glowered at me, as usual.

He stood up. “Come with me, Smith. Now.”

I waffled. I had no idea where he would take me, but judging from the furious expression on his pinched, sallow face, it couldn’t be anywhere good. I hardly knew what I had done to infuriate him so much, but I had a sneaking suspicion…

He led me through the corridors, down the stairs and all the way through the castle to the Headmaster’s Office. As we went, other students couldn’t help but stare at us. Snape was so entirely enraged—you could almost see the steam shooting out his ears—and with me in tow, looking slightly fearful and sheepish, people wondered what I had done this time. I suppose they thought I had punched out Malfoy again. Under some sort of spell, Snape uttered the password which I could not hear, and then he led me up the winding stairs into the office. 

Professor Dumbledore sat behind his desk, reading _The Daily Prophet_. Looking up at us, he set down the paper and stared at me intently. I remember how tired he looked, how…old. I had never thought of him that way before, but this year was different. He seemed sick and grieving and distracted. The stern look he now gave me made me very uneasy.

“Have a seat, Mr. Smith,” he said, his voice almost cold. This was not the Dumbledore I knew.

I sat obediently, my hands shaking slightly. Snape stood beside him, arms folded tightly across his chest, still glaring at me.

“A very troubling rumour reached me a week ago, and I wish for you to confirm or deny it,” Dumbledore said. I felt like I was being interrogated by the police.

“Sir?” I knew what he was going to say. How could I possibly get out of this one? Playing dumb wasn’t going to work this time. Dumbledore had his ways of getting at the truth.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at me. “I think you know of what I’m talking, Mr. Smith. I would like to offer you a chance to explain what you were doing in Knockturn Alley over the holiday, and do not attempt to deny your presence.”

Shit. He really had me. There was no way out except through honesty. “I’ve been doing research on the…on my mother, sir, and I wanted to find more information on her but the books I found at Flourish and Blott’s weren’t anything different from what I found here in the Library and I just thought that there might be some books on her that would tell me more, only I thought that maybe there might be some bookshop in Knockturn Alley that might contain that sort of dark information, and that’s why I ended up in Borgin and Burke’s. I had no idea I would be recognised.”

“Draco Malfoy recognised you as his brother. I’m sure others here see a resemblance to him, too,” Snape insisted. I felt stupid. Of course he was right. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

“Mr. Smith, you can’t think that only your Malfoy side is recognisable,” Dumbledore added. I felt even more stupid. “Perhaps the other students here, including your brother, would not see the resemblance, but many of us who remember your mother do, especially now, as you grow older.”

I was stunned. There I was, looking like Mariah Potter all this time and nobody bothered to mention it? How long did they know? Why didn’t anyone tell me before? Why did I have to go through this alone? I grew angry.

“And when did you plan on telling me, sir?” I asked pointedly, unable to control my resentment. “What would need to happen to me before you told me?”

“How dare you use that tone with a professor!” Snape snapped.

But I would not be disabused of my anger. “How long did you know she was my mother?” I insisted, ignoring Snape. “I have a right to know!”

“You do not have a right to be disrespectful, Mr. Smith,” Dumbledore said gently. “Professor Snape is quite correct in reprimanding you. However, you do deserve a response from me. I had a suspicion, to be honest, but I could not be entirely sure. You look different enough from your mother that you could have been related to one of the Black family, or even the Prince family.”

Snape grunted. I had never heard of the Prince family.

Dumbledore went on. “It was only in the middle of last term, just after Halloween, that I began to see a serious resemblance. And in truth, it was mere speculation. I remembered that your father and mother conducted a rather torrid romance when they were at school. I’m sure you know all about that.”

“Yeah.” The thought made me ill.

“This has been a very busy time for me, Mr. Smith, so I hope you will forgive me for not speaking to you about this earlier.” Snape grunted with disgust, but Dumbledore frowned at him. “But now that you have been recognised, I’m afraid things will be far more dangerous for you.”

“In truth, Smith,” Snape said, “your very life is in danger right now. The Dark Lord’s supporters wish to kill you, and your mother’s supporters wish to exploit you. Furthermore, the Dark Lord himself has placed a bounty on your head to anyone who can bring you to him, dead or alive.”

A bounty? On me?

“What do I do? Should I go away somewhere? Maybe go back to the muggles?” Stupid idea.

“That is just stupid, Smith,” Snape grumbled.

“Severus, please,” Dumbledore said impatiently. “In fact, Mr. Smith, I hate to do this to you, but I am going to have to restrict you to Hogwarts indefinitely…”

Whatever he may have said after that fell on deaf ears. Restricted to Hogwarts? What did indefinitely mean? What about Hogsmeade? What would I tell Padma? What about our Valentine’s Day plans?

“But…” I started.

“That is final, Mr. Smith,” Dumbledore said firmly. “I know this is very inconvenient for you, but there is no other way to keep you safe, now that people know you exist.”

I felt so foolish, but I refused to let that show. So I sounded off, like the jerk I am. “So I’m just supposed to sit here and wait for someone to kill me or kidnap me?” I shouted, unable to control my fear and frustration. “That’s not right! That’s not just! I want to be able to defend myself, stand up for myself! I spent my whole youth cowering in dark corners just waiting for someone else to brutalise me! I will not be humiliated like that again!”

I fully expected Snape’s wrath. “Smith,” he began, “I know a little of what you are feeling right now. Your background and mine are not so different. With that said, I have found that the advice of Professor Dumbledore has kept me entirely safe for many years. You would be wise to trust his judgement.”

“Even if my life is in danger?” I retorted sharply. In truth, I was touched by his unanticipated compassion.

“This is the only place that is safe for you, Smith,” Snape said. “Surely you understand that. No one can touch you here. There are many charms and enchantments which protect the castle from outside forces.”

“But if there’s a bounty on me, couldn’t some student kill me?”

“Maybe so, but they could not transport you to the Dark Lord,” Snape replied. “But this does bring up another serious issue for you. A small handful of our students have parents who are Death Eaters. Others’ parents may be supporters of your mother. Either way, it is likely that the student body will soon learn who your parents are. We all know how quickly rumours spread here at Hogwarts.”

That didn’t sound good. “What will happen to me? I suppose they’ll all hate me.” I thought of Padma and her overprotective father.

Dumbledore looked at me with great pity. “That is hard to know, Darwin,” he said. “I hope not. This is going to be a hard time for you. You are going to have to be very patient and very brave. You must not resort to lashing out at people.”

That was true. I guess I did have a bit of a reputation for being a hothead. But that worried me. “Professor, how much am I like her?”

Dumbledore thought for a moment. “You do have some similarities, Mr. Smith. Like your mother, you have a quick temper and a bit of bloodlust.”

“Bloodlust?” I bellowed. Quickly catching myself, I blushed. “Sorry, sir.”

“Like I said, you have a quick temper, just as your mother did. She, like you, was very aggressive, very intent on getting her way.” He anticipated my next question, and replied before I ever asked it. “But her motives were always entirely selfish, which I cannot say for you. That is to your great credit.”

That helped. Maybe I wasn’t doomed after all. Now, all I had to do was get through the rest of the term trapped in the castle, at the mercy of an already jittery and distrusting student populace.

And face Neville. And Padma. And even Harry.

Maybe now was the time to tell them the truth. Maybe now was the time to tell all my friends. Maybe now was the time even to tell my brother. I wept and I prayed and I searched for that elusive courage that would give me the inspiration to figure out what the heck I was supposed to do. I had to survive, and not just physically.

In the meantime, I played it cool, attended my classes and avoided Hermione Granger as much as I could. Hermione was a clever witch, clever enough to figure out who my mother was, even if she didn’t see any resemblance. Looking back, I probably could have confided in her, but for some reason, paranoia perhaps, I didn’t think that was possible. Everyone I looked at seemed suspicious to me, and any funny look a person gave me was automatically translated negatively. I sought privacy, secrecy.

I spent hours and intimate hours with Padma, wrapped in her safe embrace, protected from the hostility of any potential enemy. We lay together, entangled in each other, absorbed in each other’s eyes and hair and bodies. We never went all the way, of course—I was a gentleman—but I grew so entirely fused to her that the thought of any sort of separation from her made me feel physically ill. I needed her so greedily, so desperately. I dissolved into her kiss, her touch, the soft feel of her skin, her hair, her lips, her fingertips.

I said nothing. To my relief, no one said a word to me.

* * * * *

I worried. Draco looked just awful these days. He had gone from being sort of elusive and cranky to being deeply troubled. I could sense it. He would look at me with this strange combination of anger and desperation and almost pleading, as if he was trying to escape from something horrible. I wanted to help him all of a sudden, let him talk to me the same way Snape had let me talk all those years ago. I remembered how much better I felt after I let out my aggression and grief, and I wanted the same for my brother. I know what you’re thinking—why should I feel this way toward someone like Draco? I admit it felt odd…no, more than just odd. It felt downright wrong to have compassion for him. Is that wrong? All the same, I decided that I couldn’t let him suffer alone any longer. Whatever troubled him so deeply shouldn’t destroy him, should it?

But getting him to talk proved impossible. As the term progressed, his mind was no longer focused on school. I knew it wasn’t to do with his girlfriend—Pansy seemed more like a nuisance to him than anything else. It wasn’t to do with grades or friendships or drugs or any of the usual teen troubles. This was far worse. I figured that he was feeling the pain of having a father in prison, so I thought that since I was his brother, for what it’s worth, I should talk to him.

It didn’t go well.

I cornered him outside the Great Hall, on the pretext that I needed to tell him something private. Together, we went outside, far away from prying eyes and ears.

“What?” he demanded.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and made his way back to the castle, without another word. I stopped him. He whipped around and glared at me.

“What do you want, Darwin?” he asked harshly.

“Something’s up with you, and I’m…I’m just worried about you.” That was actually true.

But Malfoy laughed. “You’re worried…about me? You really are stupid! Gods, I wish you weren’t my brother! Then I could kill you and get the reward!”

I blanched. “You know?”

Malfoy flushed for a moment, suddenly realising he had just betrayed a confidence. “I know that your mother is a treacherous psychopath. I can see the resemblance now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked dangerously.

“Just stay away from me, freak!”

“You know, I could say the same about you, Malfoy!” I shouted at him. “What the hell is your problem, anyway? All I did was express a little concern for you, and you respond by taking my head off! You really are a right tosser!”

Suddenly, fiercely, Malfoy grabbed me by the robes and jerked me toward him, his face almost twisted with a maniacal rage. I thought he was going to punch me right in the mouth. He opened his mouth to speak, but just as quickly, his face fell, and I knew that if he had stayed around for another minute, he would have broken down in bitter tears. Instead, he released me and ran off toward the isolation of the lake. I decided not to go after him.

That should have been the end of it, but as time passed, things grew much worse. In the meantime, word began to spread about me, fairly quickly in fact. Up until then I was just an average kid at Hogwarts, not anyone who stood out or made himself notorious or famous in any way. I wasn’t a Quidditch player, and I wasn’t a stellar student, and I wasn’t a Prefect. Just another student. At first, I only had to endure a few curious stares, but after a couple of weeks, people were noticeably afraid of me, people I didn’t even know that well. As I walked through the corridors, I noticed after a while that students would actually move aside to let me pass, seemingly too afraid to get close. Could this really be happening? I had experienced rejection and abandonment in my life, but this was almost unbearable. But as skittish as most people had become about me, I still had my friends. I had Neville, and surely, I had Padma.

Or did I?

Neville was far more supportive and understanding about the situation than I thought he would be. After all, my mother was killed by his father. His father was insane partly because of that. Neville should hate me, or at least what I represented to the world. The funny thing was that he didn’t really mention it. The only time he ever came close to talking about it was when some other student tried to give me a hard time. And then, Neville would jump up right away and tell them off. I was really impressed by his bravery, since some of those people were Seventh Years. I guess he really was a true Gryffindor.

“You don’t have to do that, Neville,” I said to him one day after he had told off a Fifth Year.

Now mind you, Neville’s version of telling off a person is a bit different from what most of us would do. I’d probably just tell the person something rude, and possibly confront them physically. Neville would very quietly state his case, looking the person right in the eye, with a slightly quavering but resolute voice. It didn’t always work, but I appreciated the effort. Confrontation was never easy for Neville.

Padma, on the other hand, shocked me beyond endurance. The day before my birthday, she came down to the Great Hall, flanked by her sister and about six of her girlfriends. She wouldn’t look me in the eye.

“Darwin, I need to talk to you,” she said, her tone very businesslike. I didn’t like it at all.

I stood up. “Do you want to go somewhere?” I asked, reaching to take her by the hand.

She pulled away. “No, I need to do this here. I need my friends around me right now.”

“Well can we all at least go outside and away from everyone?”

“I need to say this here,” she insisted. A few curious eyes looked over at the cabal surrounding me.

Fine. She was going to humiliate me in front of the whole school. Great. “What is it, then?” I asked, trying to be as humane as possible. Inside, I raged.

“I can’t see you any more,” she said. “My father won’t allow it.”

“So he’s the one with the objection, not you?”

She didn’t respond right away. My heart sank.

“Forget it, Padma,” I said, feeling suddenly numb all over. “You don’t have to answer the question.”

Padma burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Darwin! I just can’t see you any more!” And with that declaration, she ran off.

Neville, Michael and Anthony stared after her, stunned by her announcement. All I could do was sit there and try not to break down in front of everyone. I was almost hyperventilating. It felt like she had just torn out my heart, kicked me in the stomach and bashed my head in. I sat like a statue, completely embarrassed and mortified and grief-stricken. What had I done? How many more friends would I lose because of who my parents were? How many were already planning to hand me to You-Know-Who?

“Geez, Darwin,” Michael said, just as shocked as I. “I’m so sorry. Are you OK?”

I shook my head. “I gotta go,” I said furtively, horrified that the friends I had left might see me cry. I stood up and walked out of the Great Hall, my eyes staring straight ahead at no one in particular. People just sat there, watching the whole scene as if it were some obscene play. No one tried to follow me out, to check on me at all. Even Neville didn’t. I spent the rest of the day in Ravenclaw, in bed, pretending to sleep. I couldn’t face anyone after what had just happened. I was sure that the entire school knew all about it by now. I knew how Hogwarts gossip went—like all gossip, it was dirty, merciless and tactless.

I didn’t eat dinner in the Great Hall that night, either. Michael and Anthony brought me a plate of sandwiches and a glass of milk. They were really great guys. I didn’t feel completely better, but at least I knew I hadn’t lost everyone. We all just sat on my bed whilst I ate, not talking. It was the only good thing that happened to me that whole day.

The next morning, I wanted to remain in bed again, but Michael and Anthony wouldn’t permit it. They both tugged on my arms to get me out of bed. I groaned in protest.

“Darwin, you have to face the world,” Michael said firmly. “You can’t let a single breakup force you into hiding.”

“And you can’t let some idle gossip about your parents keep you from getting your education,” Anthony added. “It’s not your fault you have loser parents. No one blames you.”

“Maybe not,” I said, “but they see me as a symbol of something horrible. I can’t say I blame them.”

That was a lie. I did blame them. How could they be so stupid as to think that I was somehow as evil as the Duchess? Based on what? The fact that I share her DNA? I share DNA with Harry, too, and with his father. Sorry. I’m ranting a bit.

In truth, things weren’t much better for Malfoy. OK, so people already disliked him, but the fact that his imprisoned father had cheated on his aristocratic wife with my sadistic monster of a mother gave them plenty of fuel with which to abuse him. And abuse him they did. I should have relished the scorn and humiliation they poured on him, but I didn’t. I don’t know if it was because it was also about me. To my amazement, I found that I actually cared about him, about what was said to him and about him. Every insult was like a little stab in my heart, which puzzled me, since he and I had fought so fiercely and so often. I had no idea whether he felt the same way about me. That didn’t seem to matter.

And then, one day in late May, he came to me, frantic and disturbed, eager to tell me something. What it was I had no idea, but when he beckoned me to meet him at the far end of the grounds, I went, filled with dread and with curiosity.


	10. A Promise Kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I still hadn't worked out a plan for myself. Running away seemed futile, so I tried to think of places to hide myself. I decided not to say anything to Neville. If he knew, he might get hurt if he tried to help me. The sense of fear and terror grew within me, and I began to wish sincerely that I could just run away. If I knew how to navigate the Forbidden Forest, I could possibly make a go of it, but unfortunately, I didn't. And the prospect of running into a fierce werewolf in a dark forest scared me more than the Death Eaters._
> 
> _Then, a new thought struck me. What if some of the invading Death Eaters were secretly allied to my mother? Could I possibly exploit that to save my life? The idea had a little merit, though since I didn't know who was loyal and who was not, I had no idea which of the Death Eaters would actually be willing to get me to a safe place._

I’m not a very flashy person at all. I learned early in life to keep my head down and mind my own business. That was the key to my survival in those horrible early years, that ability to step back from the heat of action and let things happen to everyone else. For a long time at Hogwarts, I was content in my position as the invisible student. I had a beautiful girlfriend, lots of good mates, a certain respectability and relative peace.

Then my life fell to pieces. If only I hadn’t looked in that envelope… I’m still kicking myself for doing that. One thing all this sudden and unwelcome notoriety did for me was to understand how Harry felt, when everyone either thought he was crazy or that he would petrify them. Even I tended to stay away from him that year, not wanting to get too near. So it shouldn’t have shocked me so much when the world began to withdraw from me when they learned about my mother and father. I guess I didn’t expect it because I wasn’t someone like Harry Potter or Hermione Granger, or even Neville. This was the sort of fame I could have lived without.

Anyway, as I was saying, Malfoy was totally frantic, nearly out of his mind. I had seen him off and on the last couple of months, but not too frequently. Rumour had it that Harry accidentally threw a rather lethal curse at him, which put Malfoy in the Hospital Wing for a short time. I didn’t visit him—I probably should have, but then again, he likely would have just thrown me out. As our eyes met, I felt this surge of connection with him, something I really hadn’t felt before. I had felt concern and curiosity before, but this was different somehow.

We went far across the lake, into a remote area not too far from the Forbidden Forest. He walked four paces ahead of me, resolute in whatever mission he seemed to have. I followed in tow, only able to guess at what he wanted to say. Honestly, I had no idea, but I got the idea that he was somehow in a lot of trouble and wanted to confide in me for some reason. We stopped near a tall set of bushes—Malfoy pulled me behind them. We sat.

“Look,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “something’s happening tonight, something awful.” He struggled to find the right words. “I…I made it possible,” he stammered, “Hogwarts is no longer safe for you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Everyone knows…”

“No!” he said frantically. Tears poured down his anguished face. “No! Not any more!”

I went into a panic. “You’re being ridiculous, Malfoy. There’s nothing to be…”

“Shut up!” he barked. “Listen! Your life is in danger tonight, Darwin!”

“If you mean…”

“Shut up!” he hissed. “There’s going to be an invasion of the school tonight!”

“What? That’s…”

“Listen! The Death Eaters are going to storm the school for two specific reasons. The first reason is to kill Professor Dumbledore, and the second reason is to kill you.”

That sounded unlikely. “Come on, Malfoy…”

“You’ve got to get out of here!” he said, his eyes filled with fright. “Now!”

“I can’t do that, Draco,” I said. “It’s impossible to get out of here. You know that. They’ve got extra security this year, because of your Death Eaters!”

“It doesn’t matter! You have to get out somehow!” he said. “Please, Darwin, you’ve got to do this! The situation is out of my control and I couldn’t bear it if you... It’s bad enough that Dumbledore has to…”

“But wait a minute,” I cut across him. “What’s all this about? What’s going on, Draco? What have you done?”

Malfoy broke down in sobs, terrible, wracking sobs. He hunched over, pulling his own hair and pounding the ground with his fists. Scared the shit out of me—I had never seen him like this. It took him a full three minutes to get himself under control. I looked on, only able to place a comforting hand on his shoulder as he struggled to compose himself. Suddenly, he grabbed me and held me close.

“I’ve done terrible things, Darwin,” he whispered in my ear. “Horrible, unforgivable things.” Malfoy broke down again. He pulled away and sat back against the hedge, drying his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m in so much trouble, and I don’t know how to get out of it! And what makes me so angry is that I’m doing all this for him!”

“Him?”

“Father! He goes and screws around behind my mother’s back, has _YOU_ , and then pretends that he’s some sort of moral icon! Bastard! And now, because he cocked up last year, because he screwed up the whole thing, I have to pay the price! Well that’s just fine, but I won’t let them take you down with me. I can do at least one good thing in this whole mess!” He grabbed me by the robes and crushed me in a desperate embrace. "He's turned me into someone I hate, but I won’t let him have you, too!"

"Look, Draco, whatever you think you have to do isn't carved in stone. You never have to do something you don't want to."

He shook his head. "I wish you were right, Darwin," he said, sniffling and wiping his eyes dry again.

"It's true."

"It's not true in this case."

"What have you done?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. "Tell me."

"I'm responsible for this whole invasion," he said, filled with agony again. "I had to do it, I swear! I had no choice, and now that it's set to happen, the whole thing is out of my hands! I can't stop it, and if I don't complete my part of it, Father will...die."

My heart sank. This was beyond horrible. As awful as my father was, I didn't necessarily want him dead. It wasn't like I was in a rush to bond with him or anything, because I wasn't, but I never wished him any lasting harm.

Malfoy continued. “Listen carefully, Darwin. Two Death Eaters are assigned specifically to search for you. They’ll search the whole castle if they have to. You have to get out today!”

My heart was pounding and my body shook. It didn’t seem real, and I suddenly wondered whether Malfoy was baiting me. After all, Hogwarts was the one place that was safe and sure. Every teacher had assured me of my complete security since my very first year, so I had a lot of reason to doubt Malfoy’s words. On the other hand, he seemed genuinely tormented, and it was that which convinced me that this wasn’t a trick.

“What do I do?” I asked. “Where do I hide?”

“You can’t…”

“Draco, I keep telling you, we can’t get out of this place! None of us can! All I can do is hide!”

“They’ll search Ravenclaw! They’ll break in! You can’t go there!”

“How about Hufflepuff? Justin will let me in.”

Malfoy shook his head no. “They'll search everywhere in this castle until they find you. They'll even search the Room of Requirement!"

"How about the Forest?" I suggested. "Most people are afraid to go in there."

"Right, and run into Fenrir Greyback," Malfoy snorted. “He’ll kill you or turn you into a werewolf!”

"Does Professor Dumbledore know about this plot against him?" I asked.

Malfoy shook his head. "We've managed to keep him entirely in the dark, which was a feat in itself. And now, he's not even here."

"Then how do they expect to kill him?"

"We have our ways. There’s a plan to get him here."

Gods! Was I really having this conversation? "What makes you think I won't go and tell Professor Flitwick about this? Or Professor McGonagall?"

Malfoy snarled. "Go ahead and tell them," he brayed. "They won't believe you. They're still under the delusion that this place is impenetrable. I wish you would tell them. It might save your life, maybe even Dumbledore's life."

I frowned. "Draco, this is going to turn you into something you aren't. You must not go through with this. Nothing is worth destroying your soul. You’re not a murderer!"

Like lightening, he raised his hand and smacked me hard across the face. I sat there, too stunned to respond to this sudden violence. Malfoy flushed and turned away.

"I'm sorry," he said in small voice. "I didn’t mean to do that. You have to understand, I love my father more than anyone in the world."

"You were just calling him a hypocrite bastard!"

"That doesn't mean I don't love him!" He took a deep breath. "I couldn't live with myself if I let him down like this."

"He let you down. He let your mother down, and mine."

"Oh right, so let him die because he's a prat? I can't do that, Darwin, I just can't. He's my father, for what it's worth."

"What about Dumbledore?” I roared. “He has to suffer to make up for someone else’s mistake? That’s insane!”

“It can’t be helped. It’s out of my hands now! I had to make a choice, Dumbledore or Father. I wasn’t free to choose neither. I don’t want to do this either, Darwin. I have no love for Dumbledore, but I don’t want to see him dead. But if I don’t do this, my whole family will die! Please, Darwin! Please understand me!”

I couldn’t understand it at all. “I don't know what to say, Draco. I can't imagine being in this situation."

"I'm so tired of fighting you. I want to...accept you, you know? Can we call a truce?"

I nodded. "Sure."

We sat for a while, not saying anything, just staring ahead at a pair of bowtruckles in a nearby yew tree. Draco leaned his head against mine and shut his eyes. I knew his mind was full of fearful thoughts and worries, and I felt horrible that I couldn't help him out of it.

* * * * *

As I sat at dinner that night, I looked all around me nervously. A few from the Slytherin table eyed me carefully, as if examining a pile of gold. Draco was not there. I had no idea where he was, and then I wondered when the invasion would begin. Looking over at the Gryffindor table, I noticed that Harry was not there, either. I wondered where he was. Dumbledore wasn’t at the Staff table, though Snape and the other teachers were. My mind raced with panic—do I take my brother seriously and hide, or should I just forget about it all and retire to Ravenclaw for the night?

I couldn’t enjoy the food that night, though it was usually one of my favourites—roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, fresh pumpkin juice. Michael was on his second helping, and Anthony was already on thirds. I hadn’t even finished my first helping. Anthony flicked a bean at my head.

“Smith!” he said. “If you don’t eat that, I will!”

“You OK, Darwin?” Michael asked. “You sick or something?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” I lied. “Hey, guys, what do you think the chances are of someone breaking into here?”

Michael laughed. “Like none. Worried about Death Eaters lurking in the halls?”

“Maybe.”

Anthony looked at me, now concerned. “Are you sure you’re not sick, Darwin?” he asked. “You’re freaking me out a little.”

“Why would you think anyone was going to break into Hogwarts?” Michael asked.

“With that huge bounty on my head, don’t you think there are plenty of people giving it a try?”

Michael scowled. “I think you’re being paranoid. That’s what I think.”

I sighed and took a bite of dinner. “I suppose.”

I still hadn't worked out a plan for myself. Running away seemed futile, so I tried to think of places to hide myself. I decided not to say anything to Neville. If he knew, he might get hurt if he tried to help me. The sense of fear and terror grew within me, and I began to wish sincerely that I could just run away. If I knew how to navigate the Forbidden Forest, I could possibly make a go of it, but unfortunately, I didn't. And the prospect of running into a fierce werewolf in a dark forest scared me more than the Death Eaters.

Then, a new thought struck me. What if some of the invading Death Eaters were secretly allied to my mother? Could I possibly exploit that to save my life? The idea had a little merit, though since I didn't know who was loyal and who was not, I had no idea which of the Death Eaters would actually be willing to get me to a safe place.

The appearance of Padma across the table from me took me out of my reverie. She looked at me coldly, impatiently, her arms folded across her chest.

“Yes, may I help you?” I asked sharply.

“I leant you a jade quill a couple of months ago. It’s very valuable. I want it back.”

“Is that all?”

“It’s expensive, Darwin!”

“I heard you, Padma! I’ll give it to you in the common room later tonight! Don’t get your knickers in a bunch!”

Anthony snorted with laughter. Michael punched him in the arm, then laughed, too.

“That’s a terrible expression!” she cried.

“Well, discriminating against a person because of his parents is terrible, too! So I guess we’re even! Is there anything else? Shall I write you an apology for being conceived by the wrong person? Shall I exchange my DNA for that of someone more acceptable? I suppose you think my mother should have had a termination!” I know that was a terrible thing to say, but I was fed up with her. At this point, we were both on our feet, glaring viciously at each other.

“You’re being stupid!” she spat.

“Oh really? I’m being stupid? You, along with the majority of people at this school suddenly treat me like a filthy pariah, simply because of my parents, neither of whom I ever met! Explain that logic to me, Padma! I can’t wait to hear it!”

“Your mother killed members of my family! Your father is a Death Eater!”

“And was I raised by either of them?”

“No! But that doesn’t matter!”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Of course it matters! Lucius Malfoy was nothing more than a sperm donor as far as I’m concerned, and my mother died when I was an infant! Why do you act like I’m the killer?”

“Because blood matters!” she shouted. By then, the entire Great Hall was watching our grand battle. How could they not? It was rife with bellowing, gesticulations, passion, tears.

I felt like she had just slapped me in the face. “Gods, Padma, you sound like Malfoy!”

“Well he’s your brother, isn’t he?” she growled at me.

“What of it?” I wondered if she knew what he was up to. I wondered if I should warn the school. But no. At this point, I knew that no one would believe such a tale. I could barely believe it myself. “Forget it, Padma,” I said with disgust. “You’ll get your precious quill back tonight.”

With that, I made my way out of the Great Hall, among quiet murmuring amongst the students. Neville followed me close behind.

“Leave off, Neville!” I warned him. I had to hide.

Neville persisted. “What was that all about?” he said, huffing and puffing to catch up with me.

“You heard.” I continued to stride quickly, forcing Neville to chase after me. My legs were a lot longer than his.

“Everyone heard.”

We stopped on the stairs to talk, though Neville took a minute to catch his breath.

“Sorry about that, mate. I just couldn’t take that shit from her any more. I’m so tired of this, Neville. Without you and Michael and Anthony, I’d go mad right now. Was I cruel to her?”

“A little. But you had a point. It was something everyone needed to hear.”

“I’m sorry, Neville. I’m just in a foul mood today. Can I ask you a question? About what happened at the Ministry last year? You never told me the story.”

“It was all over the papers. Didn’t you read it?”

“Me? Read the newspapers?”

“I was asked so many questions, and finally, I just wanted to forget all about it. It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done. I still have bad dreams about it.” Neville shuddered a little.

“What happened with my father there, with Lucius, I mean? Did he mess something up?”

Neville flushed a little. “I…I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you about that.”

“Says who?” I asked impatiently.

“It’s just that…I don’t really understand all the details. I just don’t want to reveal something accidentally that I shouldn’t have. There was this thing about some sort of prophecy. Malfoy wanted it but it broke. I guess that could have been the problem, though it was really my fault it broke, not his.”

“Why did you break it?”

“It was an accident!” he said defencively. “I didn’t mean to!”

“I’m not blaming you, mate. I was just wondering.”

“Why do you want to know all this, anyway?”

“It was just something my brother…Draco…I mean, Malfoy said the other day. I wanted to know what he meant, but he never specified.”

All Neville could do was shrug.

I took my time going back to the common room after dinner. I was still fuming from my argument with Padma, and more than anything, I just wanted to be alone. I was filled with anger and resentment for the way she and so many others were treating me these days, but more than that, I was almost paralysed with fear about this potential invasion of the school. It was so improbable, yet it was probably smarter not to question the possibility. I felt trapped—Draco said I needed to escape, but I knew very well there was no way out. And I still had no hiding place in mind. Not even close! I felt a little sick.

Back in Ravenclaw, I rummaged through my things and unearthed Padma’s quill, which she actually gave me as a gift. It was a really nice quill, and in fact, I used it rather sparingly because it was so luxurious. I was too afraid I’d break it or spoil it somehow. Padma never mentioned that it was some sort of antiquity or whatever, and she never gave me the impression that she merely leant it to me. I felt tempted to snap it in half, but I resisted. That’s what my mother would have done—no, that’s not true. She would have stabbed Padma in the eye with it first, then plunged it into her heart. But I wanted to prove that I was not like my mother. It was important to me all of a sudden that I wanted to resist my rougher tendencies, to show everyone that I was not a monster. I wanted to be genteel, kind, patient—who was I kidding? I swallowed my pride and left my room.

When I got to the common room with the quill, Padma was already there, flanked by the same six girlfriends who followed her around night and day. It’s like they were all glued at the hip or something. I thrust the quill at her.

“Here,” I said plainly.

She took it, but then just stood there.

“No thank you? Fine, whatever,” I said, turning to return to my room.

“Thank you, Darwin,” she said.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to fall to my knees and sob. I needed Padma so much just then. She had always been there to give me courage and hope when I was in my worst moments and moods, and now, I felt entirely empty. I wanted to tell her everything that was going on, how afraid I was, how heartbroken I was that I might die tonight without ever making up with her.

In a moment of complete weakness, I rushed to her—to my shock and delight, she rushed to me. We threw ourselves into each other’s arms and kissed so passionately I actually felt pain in my body. I held her close, terrified of letting her go again. Her kiss tasted salty—so did mine. We cried and sobbed and kissed and apologised and swore our undying love for ever and ever.

Teenagers.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry!” Padma cried. “You were absolutely right, and I’ve been a real bitch to you! Do you forgive me?”

“Of course!” It’s amazing how forgiving boys can be when their hormones are at stake. I’m not saying that our relationship was based on sex, because it wasn’t—in fact, we had never gone all the way—but on the other hand… What can I say? I’m a male.

We found a dark corner in the common room where we spent the next hour snogging and making up. It was quite nice, actually. After all, if I was going to die tonight, I may as well express my passion beforehand.

But at long last, we both tired out—Padma retired to bed, but I did not. I still had to find some place in the castle to hide. I wondered if I had waited too long, if the invasion had already begun. If it had, I was doomed. My only hope was that when I stepped out of Ravenclaw, that the corridors would be still empty, still quiet.

I approached the door and turned the knob....


	11. An Unexpected Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Gentle sunlight and a warm summer breeze nudged me awake. I stretched like a cat, grunting a little. I wiggled my toes and rubbed my tired eyes. I sat up. The room was sumptuous, elegant, the most luxurious place I had ever seen. The bed linens were pure silk, the duvet filled with goose down. A place fit for a…for a Duke._

The corridor was entirely empty. I didn’t like it at all. Everything was silent and still and very dark. The walls seemed so much taller in that calm hush. A chill washed through me and my heart pounded. The corridor seemed so much darker and forbidding. If you can believe it, I wouldn’t have minded even running into Mr. Filch or Professor Snape at that moment. Anyone familiar would have been a welcome relief to my pounding anxiety. But no one came.

I crept through the corridor, remaining as quiet as I could, even trying to keep my breathing in check. My heart thumped loudly in my ears, and I became so filled with paranoia that I feared that someone might actually hear it. As I made my way down a flight of stairs, my mind raced for places to hide. No Hufflepuff, certainly no Gryffindor or Slytherin—that would be suicide—I vaguely considered the kitchens, but most people knew how to get in there. Plus, I didn’t reckon that the House Elves could really do much to protect me. Elf magic is powerful, but against a throng of Death Eaters, I didn’t think there was much they could do for me.

I considered the Prefect’s bathroom, except that I didn’t know how to get in there, and I even considered the old Chamber of Secrets, except that I didn’t know Parseltongue, and therefore couldn’t open it. Then I thought of Dumbledore’s office, except that I didn’t know the password to gain access. Maybe my best chances were to keep moving, going from place to place, changing my hiding place every few minutes so that I wouldn’t just be sitting there waiting to be discovered and blown to bits. I’d feel more in control that way.

The sound of a click made me start as I made it to the bottom of the stairs. What was it? It sounded like a doorknob, but where? I looked all around me, but it was pretty dark and hard to see too far. Naturally, I didn’t dare speak or call out. I stood very still, listening for others sounds. For a solid minute, there was nothing more.

Click.

There it was again! It came from the right. I was sure of that. Therefore, logic told me to go to my left, to avoid whoever was there. I moved.

“Darwin!” a voice whispered to me.

I stopped. Do I investigate, or do I consider the voice hostile? Hostile. I kept moving.

Then the voice whispered again, a little louder this time. “Darwin! It’s me! Draco! Come here!”

I turned back and found him, crouched behind a suit of armour at the bottom of the stairs. From what I could see in the dark, he looked angry with me.

“What the hell are you doing, you idiot?” he whispered. “Why aren’t you hiding?”

“I was just doing that!”

“The Death Eaters will be here in seven minutes exactly,” Draco said. “They’re going to be spreading themselves all about the castle, and the team assigned to you will go immediately to Ravenclaw!”

“Is anyone in Ravenclaw in danger?” I asked, suddenly worried about Padma, Michael and Anthony.

“No. They won’t hurt anyone else as long as your housemates don’t fire first.”

Shit. I prayed that Michael would control himself. He wasn’t always good at that.

“Where will you be?” I asked very quietly.

“Never mind about me. Darwin, your best chance for survival is to go to the Room of Requirement…”

“Wait! You said they’d search it!”

“They will, but not until the very end. There’s a storage cupboard at the end of the corridor on the seventh floor. Hide in there now, and then after about ten minutes, go to the Room of Requirement and get inside the cabinet. You remember? It was the one we leaned against when you told me about Father.”

“Why there?” That sounded very dodgy. Wouldn’t the Death Eaters look inside a cabinet? It would be a very logical place for someone, even someone my size, to hide.

“It’s a vanishing cabinet,” Draco explained. “It will transport you out of the castle. You’ll end up back in Borgin and Burke’s.”

I frowned. “Isn’t that a bad place for me to go?”

“No. Everyone will be here at Hogwarts. If Borgin is still there, do a stunning spell on him. Have your wand at the ready and stun anyone who tries to hex you! Now go! Now!”

Actually, it was a terrific plan, in spite of the obvious dangers. After all, what were my chances if I just ran from place to place? Eventually, I’d find myself face to face with someone unfriendly, and then I’d have to do something awful in order to save myself. I made my way quietly back upstairs, all the way to the seventh floor, where I found the cupboard. With some difficulty, I secured myself, long legs and all, inside, and just in time. Seven minutes was not a lot of time to make such a journey across the castle and up far too many staircases, and in fact, no sooner had I hunkered down in the cupboard that I heard voices, adult voices, angry men’s voices. They were fairly quiet, but I knew who they were and what their mission was. I felt sick, hoping and praying that Dumbledore’s life would be spared, that my brother would walk away from this madness, and that my own life would also be spared.

There were so many Death Eaters, or so it sounded. I couldn’t tell by sound how many there were, but I knew there were a lot of them, male and female. As they passed by, I prayed that they wouldn’t try the doorknob of the cupboard. No one did. I gripped my wand so tightly, I thought it might break or slide out of my sweaty hand. This was the one time in my life when the last thing I wanted to do was fight someone. I followed Draco’s instructions and waited a full ten minutes after I heard the last of the footsteps and voices. They were all gone—I was pretty sure of that. Carefully, I opened the door, just in case, looking one way first, then the other.

Damn! They had left a guard at the door of the Room of Requirement! A particularly large and vicious looking Death Eater stood there stupidly, looking very bored, biding his time while the others did their deadly deeds.

What do I do? What do I do? Dammit! If I shout out a spell, he would likely one-up me and get me first. We had studied non-verbal magic this year, though I wasn’t too good at it. It was all about focus and intent in order for it to work. Furthermore, at this point, it was my only chance of getting out of that cupboard and safely into the Room of Requirement. I took a deep breath, gathering up my courage. My hands shook. I had never done a stunning spell on an adult before, especially not one the size of this Death Eater. What if I missed? What if it wasn’t strong enough? What if I just winged him? I would have to capitalise on my fears and my emotions and use them to my benefit.

Here we go.

I carefully stepped out of the cupboard, pointed my wand at the Death Eater and thought, “STUPEFY!” Like an explosion, the Death Eater was blown off his feet, hurtling about twenty feet in the air, landing in a heap far down the corridor. I ran over to him, snatched his wand and snapped it in two. Then, my heart still pounding, I paced before the Room of Requirement, saying desperately, “I need to hide!” three times, and entered the room.

The only object in there was the vanishing cabinet. Before I stepped in, I steeled myself. I could be facing much worse enemies at the other end of the cabinet, inside Borgin and Burke’s. This whole thing seemed so mad, so entirely improbable that for a full three or four minutes, I just stood in front of the cabinet, frantically weighing my options. After all, would they necessarily return by way of the cabinet? Probably. Were there people at the other end waiting for them? For me? I didn’t suppose that You-Know-Who would be lying in wait, but that didn’t mean I would be out of danger. And what if Draco had arranged this all along? What if he really did mean to collect on the bounty?

With a trembling hand, I opened the cabinet and peered inside. What did I have to lose? If I stayed, I would likely be killed, so I may as well trust my brother and hope he really did have my best interests in mind. I climbed in and shut the doors.

It felt something like apparating, being pressed and compressed and suffocated and then shot like a cannonball, far too fast. And then, all too soon, I landed with a bump and a bang, hitting my head hard against the side of the cabinet. That is, the other one. Anything could have happened at that moment. Someone could have wrenched open the doors and hexed me right then and there. I was completely vulnerable in that position, half sitting, half reclining, my long legs somewhat tangled and my head spinning like a top.

But no one did a thing. I listened carefully for any noise, but heard nothing. My only hope was that Draco was right, and that everyone was now at Hogwarts. I cautiously opened the doors, my wand at the ready.

But I was blinded by a flash of light, knocked into the back of the cabinet. My wand rolled out of my hand, clattering uselessly to the floor as I faded into unconsciousness…

* * * * *

Gentle sunlight and a warm summer breeze nudged me awake. I stretched like a cat, grunting a little. I wiggled my toes and rubbed my tired eyes. I sat up. The room was sumptuous, elegant, the most luxurious place I had ever seen. The bed linens were pure silk, the duvet filled with goose down. A place fit for a…for a Duke.

A couple of minutes later, the door opened, and a tiny House Elf entered, carrying a large tray piled with the makings of a full English breakfast.

“Breakfast for the great Duke, sir,” the Elf said, inclining its large head toward me. He set down the tray at the table by a tall window and beckoned for me to come and sit.

I got out of bed, suddenly noticing that I was dressed in thick silk pajamas. Who had dressed me? Who had taken my clothes off? I shuddered with embarrassment. The Elf handed me a dressing-gown and slid a pair of cashmere slippers onto my feet. I sat at the table and looked at all the delicious food.

“What is this place?” I asked the Elf.

“Why, you’re at Malfoy Manor, of course, sir,” he said, making a little bow. He left the room.

Malfoy Manor? What? How did I get here? Who was it who jinxed me at Borgin’s, then? It couldn’t have been Draco, of course. His mother wouldn’t do it, would she? I wondered if I should eat the food at all. Could it be poisoned? Could this be Narcissa’s revenge on her no-good cheat of a husband? Well, I supposed that if it were, I might at least die painlessly. Actually, the food was really good. The scones were perfectly made, and I had never had bangers and eggs like this before. If I was going to be imprisoned here, at least I would eat well. Just as I was finishing up the last of the kippers, the door opened again. This time, a very beautiful, very regal woman entered—Narcissa Malfoy, of course. I could see the resemblance to her son immediately. I stood up.

“Please, my lord, sit down, finish your breakfast,” she said politely.

My _LORD_? Was she kidding? “You must be Mrs. Malfoy, correct?”

“I know all about you,” she said, taking a seat at the table with me. I offered her a strawberry, which she gladly took. “Draco never breathed a word of it, of course, but my friends did. Mr. Borgin told me personally about your return to us.”

I nodded my head, unsure how to play this. “You must have been pretty upset, to know who my father is.”

“Your mother and my husband were lovers long ago, and I never complained.”

I scowled. “Why not? If my girlfriend had another lover, I’d be pretty upset.”

“I didn’t say I was not upset. But I knew my duty, and in the end, your father did, too.”

This was going nowhere. “Why am I here?” I demanded. “Am I a hostage? Are you going to kill me?”

Narcissa smiled at me. “Of course not, my lord. I would never bring any harm to the Duke. You may already know this, but in the old days, before you and my son were born, your mother was forming a secret alliance of her own, to militate against the Dark Lord.”

I wished she would stop calling me _my lord_. “Yes, I know all about that.”

“Then you know that your father and I initially chose the Dark Lord?”

“Are you telling me you’ve changed heart?”

Narcissa flushed. “Do I have your confidence, my lord?” Her upper lip quavered.

“Of course.”

“You will not betray me?”

“I’d never dream of it, so long as you don’t poison me.”

“What I have to say could cost me my life!”

“You can speak freely to me, Mrs. Malfoy. I insist.”

She looked at me with frightened, beautiful eyes. “After the Dark Lord betrayed my son by using him so terribly, I found I could no longer…follow him. Nothing in the world comes before my son!” The moment she said this, she looked around, terrified, searching for any sort of spy. But there was none.

“What are you saying?”

She had gone too far. Deftly, she changed the subject. “Draco sent me an owl yesterday telling me that he was going to get you to escape through the cabinet. All I had to do was go to Borgin’s, where I would stun you and bring you back here.”

“So you’re the one!”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, positively appalled by her own behaviour.

“Mrs. Malfoy, please stop calling me that!” I insisted. Honestly! It felt weird being called _My Lord_. “Just call me Darwin. Or if you must, Mr. Smith.”

She nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Where’s Draco, then? Is he here?”

I didn’t expect her to burst into tears. “It’s so awful! He did everything the Dark Lord asked, everything! And just because Draco had some difficulty doing it himself, now the Dark Lord wants to take his life!”

“What do you mean, he had difficulty?”

But then, she became evasive, which frustrated me to no end. I felt like I was interrogating a suspect or something. “I knew it all along. He’s so young, so fragile. All he wanted to do was help us, and to see him exploited like this!” She dissolved into sobs again.

Draco? Fragile? If he’s fragile, then I’m a pacifist! “Where _is_ Draco, Mrs. Malfoy? Where is he? Is he OK?”

“I don’t know! He and Severus had to run for it! They never even got the chance to finish the entire takeover of the school!”

That sounded good. I hoped that meant the school was safe, then. Perhaps it would be a safe place for me to hide. “Was anyone else killed?”

“An Auror and two of ours.”

I narrowed my eyes, for drama. “Surely you mean two of theirs.”

“Of course, Mr. Smith. What was I thinking?” Narcissa sniffled. I handed her a napkin so she could dry her eyes.

“Thank you, my lord.” She blew her nose.

OK, I’ve been in some strange places in my life—I’ve slept in alleys, eaten rubbish, handled blast-ended skrewts, but this had to take the prize. Honestly, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing or where any of this would take me. I wasn’t a hostage, if Narcissa was being honest with me, but on the other hand, I didn’t exactly feel free to just get up and leave, either. She was calling on me to take up my mother’s legacy, which I refused to do, but on the other hand, if I exploited my mother’s influence, I might be able to save myself and my brother from annihilation.

So I played it cool for as long as I could. _The Evening Prophet_ reported on the whole story, from Dumbledore’s death to the battle that took place at the school, to the attack on Bill Weasley, to my disappearance from the school.

_Sources speculate that Smith, only just 17, was kidnapped by allies of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and taken to an undisclosed location. It was recently revealed that the young wizard is the illegitimate son of Lucius Malfoy, an imprisoned Death Eater and chief lieutenant within the organisation, and the notorious murderess, The Duchess. Some say the Duchess had plotted to take over the evil operation, but after her death and his loss of power, her supporters drifted into safe obscurity, to preserve their lives._

_But when the young Duke resurfaced at Knockturn Alley in December, the Duchess’ former disciples renewed their zealous objective. With the disappearance of the Duke, however, it is highly unlikely that they will succeed, if this alleged rebellion is even true. All of this is for the better, Aurors say. The Duchess’ brand of evil was more violent and vicious than that of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the entire wizarding world is better off without either._

_At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Smith has had a mixed reputation since his arrival in 1991, and many there are unsure of his intentions for the future. He is known for his involvement in many fistfights over the years, and was nearly expelled from the school in his first year for beating a boy nearly to death._

_Efforts to retrieve Smith are underway, though some Aurors believe he may already be dead._

Great. Now everyone would think I was just like my mother. This was too much. I desperately wanted to leave. I at least wanted to send an owl to Padma to tell her I was OK and that I wasn’t evil. But the next day, a beautiful woman showed up at Malfoy Manor for what proved to be a very private meeting, led by Narcissa Malfoy herself. The woman, as it turned out, was one Francesca Zabini, mother of Draco’s friend, Blaise. It was hard to keep my eyes off her as we sat in the lavish dining room finishing breakfast—she was absolutely the most striking woman I had ever seen in my life.

“We are close to being in open rebellion against the Dark Lord,” Narcissa said. “His agents Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback will not show mercy if we are caught unprepared. Your presence is a welcome relief to us, sir. You are giving us hope for the future.”

Were they expecting me to fight or something? That didn’t sound good. If I was going to fight for anything, it certainly wasn’t for my mother’s cause. I’d fight against her cause, but not for it.

“We were the ones who stood by your great mother when she was alive,” Mrs. Zabini explained. “She taught us the art of survival in the midst of hostility and hard times, and now that you have stepped into our midst, it is time for you to be groomed and prepared to assume your rightful role.”

Groomed? What was I, a horse? This was going too far, and I knew I had to step away from the pretense I was giving them. “I don’t need to be groomed by anyone, Mrs. Zabini,” I said rather haughtily. “I have my own mind. Perhaps you are the ones who need to be groomed.” I was totally winging it.

“What do you mean, my lord?” Mrs. Zabini asked.

Could a little dose of truth work? It could. Things couldn’t get much worse for me, so I had to try. “I mean, you have lived through the power of another for a very long time. You have ceased to live for your own selves.”

Narcissa and Mrs. Zabini grinned at each other. I worried.

“He’s just like his mother, isn’t he?” Narcissa said admiringly.

“No! I’m not!” I protested. “Look, ladies, I don’t know what you’re planning, but don’t expect me to be a part of any sort of revolution. This has nothing to do with me!”

“In truth, my lord,” Mrs. Zabini said, “we don’t really need you to do anything at all, at least not for now. Our comrades are quite willing and able to militate against the Dark Lord in your name. We will make sure you are well-protected until it is your time.”

That sounded like it could go horribly bad for me. Clearly, she had chosen to ignore my very obvious statement. If these people wanted to kill each other, that was fine, but I didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. This wasn’t my rebellion.

Or was it? Could I use this unexpected position of tremendous power to assist in the greater effort to stop You-Know-Who? Rebellion within the ranks of You-Know-Who would weaken both factions, making it easier for Harry to finish him off. This could work, but I didn’t know what role I would play. Would I play it cool and pretend to give orders? Would I give real orders, get some Death Eaters killed, on my own command? That scared me.

I needed time to think about this, really think. I needed a place of safety so I could do my thinking. Hogwarts was now out of the question, considering that I was currently a quasi-hostage. Why not stay here, at Malfoy Manor?

“How protected do you mean?” I asked. Then, I went for it. “You must swear on your lives that I will be entirely secure in this house.”

“Here?” Narcissa said, taken by surprise.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Is that a problem?” I asked dangerously. I was really hamming it up.

She became flustered. “It’s just that…I mean, well…yes, I think we can secure it, my lord. For a while, anyway. But even the Dark Lord moves around frequently to avoid detection.”

“Just make sure it happens. Today. You do understand that my security ensures your own security?”

“Of course, sir,” Mrs. Zabini said.

“Excellent,” I said, sounding satisfied. “When you have done that, you will inform me about the Duchess’ plans for the future. You will also give me a full list of names of those who still have faith in my mother and her cause.”

“Absolutely, sir,” she said.

“If I am to make any sort of decision about this rebellion, you will need to give me the details and the long-range plan. Is that clear?”

“Naturally, sir,” Narcissa said.

Now don’t get me wrong. I had no plans to become a killer, like my mother. But the more I knew of what she planned, the more ammunition that gave me, to think of a way out of this mess. Both women left the room for quite a long time, presumably doing what they needed to do to secure Malfoy Manor against intruders. For all I knew, the woods outside were thick with Death Eaters who could enter the house at any time.

While they were gone, I returned to the bedroom to find something to wear. I couldn’t just go about in pajamas all day—I figured there would be a nice set of robes I could borrow. I rummaged through the wardrobe, suddenly realising where I was—in Draco’s bedroom. It had to be. All the clothes in the wardrobe were my size—his size, too—and obviously not brand new. They were elegant and expensive to be sure, but he had worn most of the clothes at least once or twice.

I pulled out a stunning set of deep purple robes—a nice, regal colour—and put them on. The buttons were pure gold, and they were lined in blood red silk. They felt like heaven. I must admit, they were the most stylish robes I had ever worn, and they looked quite smart on me. I know, I know, I sound really obnoxious, don’t I? Sorry. It’s just that I was so scared at that moment and so completely unsure what to do that I simply assumed the role of this Duke I was supposed to be. It wasn’t the most honourable thing to do, but I just wanted to survive in one piece.

Now all I needed to do was come up with a plan.


	12. Malfoy Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What to make of my brother? Was he the braying boor that I had come to know over the years, or was there more to Draco Malfoy that I had yet to unmask?_

A kid like me doesn’t often get a chance at real power. There were so many days growing up where I was so degraded and beaten down that I could only think of myself as something slightly less palatable than a slug. By the time I arrived at Hogwarts at age 11, I had absolutely no sense of self-worth, no self-confidence, no feeling of importance whatsoever. And trust? Forget it. It took a long time and the love of many good people for me to see any shred of goodness or value in myself. It was easier merely to put myself down—a comfortable habit learned at an early age. Self-deprecation kept me out of all sorts of trouble. I actually avoided a fair amount of beatings by taking blame or insulting myself as a small child.

So you can see why the fawning and scraping of Narcissa Malfoy and Mrs. Zabini threw me entirely. I mean, even at Hogwarts, no one threw themselves at my feet, and certainly, no one called me _My Lord_. Can you imagine? If Michael or Anthony heard that, I’d never hear the end of it from them—for the rest of my life! I wondered if they really meant it, or if they were just playing up to me for my mother’s sake. I wished I knew Legilimency so I could read their thoughts and intentions. Drat.

Either way, it got old really fast.

For the next couple of days, I remained mostly in Draco’s room, eating more than my share of food and going through all his personal belongings. And no, I didn’t steal anything. I was just curious. I learned more about my brother than I probably wanted to. For example, I learned that he collected Salisbury Sirens Quidditch cards, and that he had a penchant for sugar quills and Bertie Botts’ Every Flavour Beans, mostly lemon and cherry flavoured. Of course, you never quite knew what you were getting with Bertie Botts. There was an old, battered teddy bear under Draco’s bed, a relic of early childhood, and a muggle videogame hidden behind the teddy bear. Something like that would be considered contraband in that house, I was pretty sure. I can’t imagine Lucius approving of anything like that in his house. Draco saved articles from _The Daily Prophet_ about the Salisbury Sirens Quidditch records, and articles from _Witch Weekly_ about muggle science. He had books on wizard chess and on the history of witchcraft in the Americas, and he had a very secret stash of muggle CD’s and a muggle CD player and batteries. Titles ranged from Metallica to Nirvana to—Garth Brooks? I never would have suspected him of being a country music fan.

I also found his collection of personal photographs. Mostly family photos, taken at resort spots around the world. They were amazingly normal, just any other wizarding family on holiday, waving and mugging for the camera. It was pretty ludicrous, actually, seeing my pompous father laughing and sticking out his tongue at the camera like a nutter. I actually laughed at that one. Draco had other photos with Pansy Parkinson, his girlfriend, and with his best friends, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. The photos dated back to when they were small children. I got the distinct idea that these boys really loved each other as close friends—I guess thugs like them need friends, too. I felt a pang of jealousy—growing up, I never had a friend, at least not one that was lasting. I moved too frequently from foster home to foster home to form any lasting friendships. Draco was lucky, in more ways than he understood. He had parents who loved him and supported him, even if they were screwed up. He had a sense of belonging, too, something I never had. My brother knew who he was and where he came from, knew that he was loved and cherished and wanted. I never had that, and I envied him for all the typical family photos he had collected over the years.

What to make of my brother? Was he the braying boor that I had come to know over the years, or was there more to Draco Malfoy that I had yet to unmask?

By my fifth day at Malfoy Manor, I was getting restless. Dumbledore’s funeral was over and done, and to my extreme shock, the school was declared closed indefinitely. Now what? All I knew was that I no longer felt safe at Malfoy Manor. I hadn’t seen much of Narcissa in a while, and I wondered what she and Mrs. Zabini were up to. I would usually see her at breakfast and dinner, but all those hours in between, I knew nearly nothing of her whereabouts. Had they really secured the house, or was that just a line to shut me up?

During those days, I learned that I have a real problem with claustrophobia. When I was seven, the foster “parent” I lived with decided to punish me by locking me in a very small closet for three whole days, with only a pee bucket and a plate of stale sandwiches—no water. I never slept whilst I was in there. 72 excruciating hours, awake, listening to every movement outside, fearing every voice I heard, every footstep. Would I be beaten? killed? left for dead? No matter how much I shouted and pounded on the door, the lady wouldn’t let me out. That was the start.

And now, here I was again, held in a box by a lady who wouldn’t let me out. OK, so it was a mansion, not a box, and I had plenty to eat and drink, fabulous clothes to wear, even if they weren’t mine to keep, and the luxury to lounge about and pretend like I was some sort of commanding official. That old feeling of being enclosed and entrapped settled down on me, pressing against my lungs, making me too alert and too paranoid. I had to get out.

That morning, I went straight to the front door after breakfast and tried the knob. Nothing. I tried the lock, but it wouldn’t move. I could hear Narcissa behind me, which threw me into a greater sense of panic. She would get me, throw me in a closet for sure, leave me to die alone. I know, I know—I sound crazy, right? That’s the problem with phobias—they’re entirely irrational. I knew this bloke who could not go down a flight of stairs if someone was behind him because he was sure they would run him down. So he’d actually stand aside if he heard footsteps behind him and wait for them to pass him on the stairs. Irrational. 

That was how I was with claustrophobia. I always needed to know that I could go outside, get away. I suffered too many moments of violent imprisonment as a boy and couldn’t stand to feel enclosed in any way. Even during my first year at Hogwarts, I had to sleep near the door and keep the door propped open just a little. The only good thing about sleeping in alleyways before I went to Hogwarts was that sense of the wide open sky above me. I could go anywhere, run, hide, be free, separate myself from those who wanted to hurt me or imprison me. That’s how deeply scarred I was from my childhood. I still am today.

The quick clatter of her heels on the wood floor approached quick and dangerous, or so it felt. It seemed important to her somehow that I not leave the house. OK, I know I ordered them to secure the house, but I had neglected to realise that this meant I would have to remain indoors the entire time. Stupid of me, really.

“The door won’t open,” I said to Narcissa.

“I know, Mr. Smith,” she replied coolly.

“You jinxed it, didn’t you!” I barked, my heart racing.

“It’s dangerous out there. You have to stay here, out of sight. We’ve discussed this before.”

She was right, of course, but at this point, I wasn’t listening much to reason. “You don’t understand, Mrs. Malfoy, I need to get out! Look, I have pretty bad claustrophobia! I need to breathe!” I was really getting worked up.

Narcissa touched me on the arm, but I wrenched myself away from her. “Let me out!” I demanded. I pulled out my wand and threw a sharp stinging charm at her. She let out a yelp and jumped back.

“Now listen here, Mr. Smith,” she said, massaging her shoulder, “there’s no need for that! I’m trying to protect you! You were the one who wanted the house sealed!”

Sealed? I knew I had to calm down, but it was getting harder and harder. I hadn’t meant to hurt her. It’s something my mother might have done, and I felt pretty terrible for it. I pointed my wand at a beautiful vase of irises—it blew apart magnificently. Narcissa frowned and quickly repaired the vase.

“Mr. Smith, you must stop this!” she demanded. “Let’s go sit in the parlour and have some tea. You’re very upset, and if you keep this up, I won’t have a single vase left in the house!”

I think she was trying to be funny. It worked. A little. I suddenly realised that I had gone too far. “I’m sorry,” I said. My hands shook as I put my wand away. She led me to the parlour, where we drank some very lovely chamomile tea.

“Better?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Good,” she said approvingly. “Now then, I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you for a while. There’s much to do today, so I probably won’t see you much until dinner. Why not do a bit of reading in the library? We have many wonderful volumes, and I think there are a few that mention the Duchess.” With that, she excused herself, leaving me alone in the parlour.

I picked up the newspaper and ate another scone. They really were the best I’d ever had. The House Elf brought more tea and quickly left the room. The paper had more of the same. More stories of the war, of more deaths and disappearances. Some families had fled the country, including—the Patil family, who had gone away to India—my heart sank. Harry Potter had gone underground, and news about the school was still uncertain. Professor McGonagall, the new Headmistress, was currently conducting a series of meetings with the Board of Governors, the results of which would be reported by the start of July. Until then, all students would need to wait and hope. What would be do if we couldn’t go to Hogwarts? Would any of us really go to muggle school? It would either be that or going abroad, either to Europe or to the United States. Then, on the second page, I found a story about me.

_Auror Nymphadora Tonks, head of the squad searching for missing wizard, Darwin Smith, 17, told the Prophet that “he may be out there on his own, unsure where to go or to whom he can turn. We want him to know that he can come to the Ministry and turn himself in…”_

Turn myself in? They still thought I was a criminal?

_…student Anthony Goldstein, a Ravenclaw housemate with Smith, told the Prophet that, “he was always nice to me. I never thought he was evil at all. Maybe a bit hotheaded sometimes, but then again, we all get that way.” Hufflepuff Justin Fitch-Fletchley reported that Smith “stood up for the little guy, always. He fought a lot, but it was usually because some Slytherin had just bullied someone else and Smith was just coming to their defence.” On the other hand, Gryffindor Lavender Brown recounted a recent incident in which he “totally yelled at his girlfriend and made her cry.”_

I made her cry? What? She was the one who started it by breaking up with me! I read on.

_Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour had this to say about Darwin Smith: “Is he going to fulfill his mother’s legacy? I certainly hope not. He does show signs of violence, which concerns the Ministry very much. After all, the boy is only 17, and if he continues to foster his violent nature, he may be beyond our control before too long.” Indeed, many in the Ministry agree that Smith risks a life in Azkaban, unless he comes in from hiding and gets help right away._

_We at the Daily Prophet hope that Darwin Smith will listen to reason and surrender, while he still has a chance to explain himself._

Surrender? Were they joking? What the hell did they think I was? What was this shit about my “violent nature”? Geez! Suddenly, being trapped at Malfoy Manor sounded like a pretty good idea. Going to the Ministry was probably a fairly safe option for me, but on the other hand, they had a tendency to place innocent people in Azkaban these says, pretending that they’re winning the war on the Death Eaters. I remembered what had happened to that Knight Bus conductor, Stan Shuntpike, and his connections were far more innocent than mine. Malfoy Manor was much nicer than Azkaban. I ate rich food, wore Draco’s sumptuous clothes, slept in his very comfortable bed every night, had command of all the servants in the house, and had access to my father’s fascinating collection of books.

Maybe…

I suddenly wondered if my father had saved the letters from my mother, or if he had burned them up. This was probably not a question to ask of Narcissa, however. On the other hand, if I had as much power as I thought I did, I could rummage through his things on my own, without permission. But that would be overplaying it. For all I knew, Narcissa was bluffing, just to keep me put so some Death Eater could finish me off. No, I would first go through the desk in the library and see if there was anything interesting there—secretly of course—and then I might ask Narcissa what else he still had. I was sure she’d know, even if it was an uncomfortable subject for her. After all, she knew they were lovers, so why wouldn’t she know if he had kept correspondence, especially if they also had political content in them.

The library at Malfoy Manor was almost as nice as the one at school, but naturally, much smaller. But the collection of books on the ceiling-high shelves were far more interesting. There was a section devoted to schoolbooks—Lucius’, Narcissa’s and Draco’s old texts—and a few I recognised as stolen from Hogwarts library. There were the usual coffee table books on wizard art and travel and unicorns and such. They had a really nice herbology book on beautiful, poisonous flowers of the Far East—that one looked frequently referenced. Figures. I imagined Narcissa in her garden, inviting some enemy to smell the lovely yellow flowers, only to have it spray invisible poison on their face, burning them to death, or something.

The vast collection of spellbooks caught my interest as well. My father had them sorted by category—charms, transfiguration, potions, and so on. Most of them looked very dodgy, very dark. One focused on creating permanent reptilian features on an enemy, and another gave detailed instructions on how to transfigure a murdered enemy with the purpose of hiding or destroying the body. That one looked very frequently used. I wondered if my mother used any of these books or had given my father any of them as gifts. I wondered if she had ever been in this room, touched any of these tomes with her own fingers, as I was doing just now. Were my fingerprints passing over hers? I felt a chill of excitement as the thought briefly consumed my mind.

One volume stood out to me in particular, on the end of the middle row of books. The book was pale green, edged in fine gold, its pages a luxurious, smooth parchment. It was entitled, Masters of the Cruciatus, by Brutus Pacem, OMFC. The first thing I saw when I opened the cover of the book was a signature, a note, in my mother’s fluid handwriting:

_To my Lucius, from your higher essence. M._

What an ego, I thought with disgust. _Higher essence?_ What the hell did she think she was, some sort of goddess? Probably. Hag. How did my father ever get mixed up with her? It was beyond me. As vile as Lucius Malfoy was, I thought he was better off without my mother. In fact, I thought her death was likely the best thing that could have happened to him. Is that an awful thing to say about one’s own mother? Probably. I remember once reading a book by a muggle author, William Faulkner, where the character said, “I cannot love my mother because I have no mother.” I know how he felt.

The book itself, the one on the Cruciatus curse, that is, was pretty interesting. I remembered learning about the Unforgiveables in my Fourth Year, and I remembered how devastating the Cruciatus curse was on that poor spider. I had never experienced the curse myself, though I occasionally felt tempted to throw it at my brother from time to time. No, I never did. I’ll leave the brutality to my mother, thank you very much. According to Pacem, the curse works best in the full throes of utter hatred and venom, where the caster’s whole self is focused on causing severe pain on the victim. If the person was only half-hearted about it, or just wanted to cause pain out of revenge or love or something, it wasn’t as strong. It took total hate to reach the pinnacle of effectiveness.

And then, I saw the chapter on my mother. She herself had marked the page and had drawn little stars all around her name on the front page of her chapter, as if she were really proud of this accomplishment. Of course, the book took a very negative attitude toward her prowess with the Cruciatus curse, telling the tale I already knew, about how her victims were usually tortured into insanity before being slowly killed. And sometimes, she would continue the torture even after they were insane, to confuse them and terrorise them even more. As I read, I cried tears of shame and regret. It seemed cruel to be related to her, but it was too late to do anything about it. Changing my name was out of the question. Because of my great height, I already stood out, and then there was my face, my eyes, my reputation.

I was screwed.

After a while, I had to set the book down. I couldn’t take it any more. Reading about the curse and my mother’s perfection of it was too depressing. Instead, I turned my attention to Lucius’ grand writing desk, through which I now rummaged. That was quite fun. To my surprise, Narcissa hadn’t really bothered to clean it out after his arrest. I knew that all dark objects would be gone, but I wasn’t interested in those. I wanted to find something more personal, more intimate, something that would tell me about my father and mother.

Most of what was in Lucius’ desk was the usual stuff—ink bottles, quills, parchment, blotting paper, seals and wax, string for sending owl posts, clippings from _The Daily Prophet_ on You-Know-Who and Harry Potter and Sirius Black, Droobles Best Blowing Gum (Draco’s?), one copy of a muggle skin magazine, which shocked me more than it should have, a ledger containing what looked like financial information. From what I could tell, the Malfoys had almost as much money as I did. Almost. I also found a stack of photographs of Draco, starting from when he was a baby to just last year, before the arrest. Many of them were candid shots of Draco at home—sitting at the dining room table with his friends, riding his broomstick outside, laughing with his mother. The one that touched me the most was the one of Draco and Lucius, dressed identically, locked in a tight embrace. My six-year old brother looked almost ecstatic with joy, and Lucius did, too.

It was then that I understood Draco’s grief over finding out about me. I could see in these pictures that Lucius was Draco’s whole world, and I could see from this marvelous house that Draco had every reason to believe his father to be a hero and idol. Snape was right. I should never have said “brother” to him. I’m such an insensitive fool. We were doing so well just as simple enemies, but now, we both found ourselves in a position where we were forced, by blood I think, to care about each other. He had saved my life, after all, out of love. He risked everything for me, even got his mother involved. I’m sure she didn’t want to, but she did, out of devotion to her son. I felt bad about stinging her and breaking her china.

Soon, a knock at the door distracted me from my mournful ruminations. I quickly shut the desk drawers, feeling like an intruder.

“Yeah, come in!” I called out.

In walked Narcissa, a broad smile on her face. She rushed to me and got me to my feet.

“He’s here! I don’t believe it!” she said elatedly.

“Who? Your husband?” I wasn’t ready to meet my father.

“No! My son! He’s here! Come and see him!”

She took me by the hand and led me to the parlour, where a shabby and weathered Draco Malfoy sat, or rather, sprawled on the divan, only looking half-alert. I noticed a bruise on his stubbly chin and wondered if he got it from Dumbledore, from Snape or from someone else. But when he saw me enter the room, he got to his feet gracelessly and forced a weak smile.

“I see you made it here,” he said. His voice sounded tired, drained of energy.

“Yeah,” I said rather stupidly. “So did you.”

Draco rubbed his forehead. “Yeah. I’m not staying long. Just for the night, then I’m off.”

“Back to You-Know-Who, I suppose?” I asked sharply.

Draco bit his lip. “Actually, no. I have to go away for a while and…stop it, mother!” Narcissa had burst into noisy sobs, her face buried in her hands. “You know I have to do this!” But he didn’t roll his eyes in exasperation. In fact, I could see that there were tears in his eyes.

We all sat down whilst the House Elf served us brandy and pasties. Draco ate nothing, though he did have a large glass of brandy.

“Why are you here?” I asked. “Are you here to collect on the bounty on my head?”

Draco shook his head no. “No, Darwin. If I had wanted the bounty, I’d have made sure my aunt Bellatrix was at Borgin’s that night. I sent Mother because I knew she would bring you here.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t she tell you? She broke with the Dark Lord.”

“Yeah, she mentioned that. Something about betrayal.”

Narcissa sobbed even louder. Draco threw her an angry glare. “I said, STOP it, Mother!” he snapped. Narcissa choked back a sob and tried to compose herself.

“What about you, Malfoy,” I asked. “Have you broken with him?”

“To answer that would be imprudent,” he replied, sounding very much like Snape. “I told you before, I don’t think you should have to pay with your life for Father’s stupidity and disloyalty.”

“Draco!” Narcissa snapped.

“It’s true, Mother!” he snapped back. “How can you stand up for him after what he’s done to us?”

“He’s still your father!” she retorted. “And he’s my husband, and I will not permit you to speak in that way about him!”

Draco scowled and ignored her. “Darwin has no part in this, Mother. I will not allow him to be mistreated or killed by either side of this battle.”

“You are mistaken, my dear,” she replied. “Your half-brother has a very important role to play in the rebellion.”

“You will NOT exploit him, Mother!” Draco roared. “I’ve risked far too much to allow anyone to use him for their own purposes! He has a right to live his own life! I never got that right…”

“What? How dare you say that to me!” Narcissa cried. “After all your father taught you…”

“He brainwashed me, Mother! He never gave me a chance to do anything but follow in his footsteps!”

“That is a son’s duty,” she said proudly, straightening her spine. “To follow his father’s legacy.”

“Right, Mother. Do you really want me to treat women like he treated you? Do you want me going about screwing any woman who pleases me, regardless of what my wife or girlfriend might say? Is that the sort of man you want me to be? You don’t even know what sort of magazines he keeps hidden from you.”

I blushed, having found that sort of magazine in my father’s desk just a few minutes prior.

Narcissa sighed. “Draco, you don’t understand. I always knew your father would remain true to me…”

“He fucked another woman, and you just let him get away with it!” Draco bellowed. I thought for sure she’d slap him in the face for using the f-word, but she didn’t. I used that word once at one of my caretakers, and I got such a punch in the face that I had a bruise for two weeks. Draco was a prince.

As they continued to argue, I felt increasingly uncomfortable just sitting there. What continued to astonish me was that for the first time, at least in my hearing, Draco Malfoy was standing up for something moral and good. It wasn’t that he embraced Harry Potter’s side of the war or anything, but it became clear that he had fully accepted me as his brother. For the first time in my life, I truly felt attached to someone, somehow fully integrated into the life of another person, beyond friendship or anything else. To be honest, Draco and I had never been friends at all. But this wasn’t about camaraderie—this was about blood ties, about…family.


	13. Escape from the Dark Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Good luck out there, Draco,” I said. “You’ll be OK. You’re strong and you’re clever. You’ll be able to stay ten steps ahead of the Death Eaters.”_
> 
> _He nodded and embraced me again. “Take care of yourself, too,” he said. “You’ve got a bit of hiding to do, too.”_
> 
> _“I know.”_
> 
> _“Be good to my mother and make sure she doesn’t go back to the Dark Lord, OK?”_
> 
> _“OK.”_
> 
> _“And don’t let Francesca Zabini or my mother exploit you or push you around, OK?”_
> 
> _“OK.”_

I’ll admit he did a lot for me. He did help me escape from the Death Eaters, and he did arrange for a safe hiding place for me with his mother. I’ll grant him that much. And yes, he swore up and down that he wasn’t here to kill me or capture me. I wanted to believe him. I really did. I guess the most astonishing thing to me, and the most unbelievable, was that Draco was actually standing up for me, actually going out of his way to protect me, even from his mother’s influence.

It made me wonder what had happened to my brother. Now don’t get me wrong—it wasn’t like he was all of a sudden a nice bloke, because that sure wasn’t true. In fact, he was nearly as obnoxious as always, but with one important difference. He didn’t want to fight me or jinx me or harm me in any way. Strange, isn’t it? Looking back to our earliest encounters during our First Year at school, we both wanted to tear each other’s throats out, and now, so much had changed. Maybe we just grew up, saw the greater picture at hand, knew more deeply what was at stake. He had said it before, that he was finally ready to accept me as his brother. Did I have the same courage, to accept Draco Malfoy as _my_ brother? Accepting him meant accepting the reality of my parentage, without shame. It meant entering into the Malfoy clan as one of their own.

It was a bizarre irony to me, almost humourous. For so long I had desired to belong to someone, to feel connected in a deep and abiding way. But I was thinking more along the lines of the Longbottoms or the Corners or even the Patils. I never wanted to be a Malfoy, but by accepting Draco, I became one.

At the same time, I had a lot of unanswered questions, and only Draco would be able to give me satisfaction. Eventually, his argument with Narcissa calmed down—OK, actually, she stormed out of the room fuming at him. That left the two of us alone on either side of the divan, staring at the crackling fire in the hearth. The House Elf came in to refresh our drinks.

“Get out,” Draco ordered the Elf. The Elf cheerily obeyed.

I scowled at him. “You should treat your servants better.”

“You should mind your own damn business.”

We sat in stolid silence for a few more minutes, sipping brandy and trying to find words to communicate with each other. I picked at a hangnail on my thumb.

“That’s a bad habit,” Draco said.

“You should mind your own damn business,” I replied coolly.

Draco chuckled at that. “Touché.”

“Thank you, incidentally, for saving my arse,” I said sheepishly.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I meant what I said, you know. Look, Darwin, if you somehow choose to follow in your mother’s footsteps and take her place, that’s your choice. Don’t make the mistake I made and be forced into it.”

“You regret following in Father’s footsteps?”

“I regret a lot of things. I wish I didn’t know about you,” he said. “I wish I still had that illusion of Father as someone larger than life, you know?” Draco shut his eyes for a moment, pondering. “He was my whole world, Darwin. I never wanted anything other than to be like his clone.”

“I know,” I said, remembering all the family photos I had just seen.

“It’s not your fault,” Draco said. “I don’t hate you. I really don’t. I know my parents aren’t saints or anything, but I always wanted to think of them as better than everyone, that they were justified in their prejudices. I always figured that they had good reason to hate muggles and mudbloods and that if I just listened to them carefully and followed everything they taught me, I’d really understand why.”

“And do you understand it?”

Draco shook his head no. “I thought I did, until I met people like Granger. It never made sense to me that a mudblood could be clever, but she is. She ruined the first half of my illusions, and you finished them off.”

“I guess you’ve got nothing left.” I put a brotherly hand on his shoulder. For once, he didn’t jerk himself away. “Tell me what happened, Draco, after I left the school.”

“It was awful,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He wiped away a stray tear. “It was supposed to be so easy. All I had to do was lure him to the Astronomy Tower, which I did with the Dark Mark. I had him, entirely alone, unarmed! A simple Avada Kedavra, and it would be over!” To my horror, Draco dissolved into bitter tears.

“Tell me everything,” I said, trying to calm him down. He was really sobbing, haunted by some terrible memory. I couldn’t help but feel pretty powerless at that moment.

Draco took a deep breath and tried to get control of himself. “I was so close to killing him, but he kept telling me what you said, that I wasn’t a killer. I kept trying to justify myself, mostly because I was starting to believe the old man, but then he offered me…a way out.”

“Like an escape?”

Draco nodded. “He knew my family was in danger if I didn’t do this thing, and he promised me he could hide us all. It was the best thing I had ever heard, Darwin. I would have accepted the offer, but then other Death Eaters came in. They saw that I had lowered my wand, which meant I either had to finish off the old man right then and there to prove myself, or I had to let them take my life.”

“So what did you do?”

“I was going to let Dumbledore sort of take charge of the situation, let him save me from this mess, but then Snape came in.”

“Snape? What did he do? Your mum said he was the one who got you out of the castle.”

“He did, but…he killed Dumbledore first! He just took one look at him, pointed his wand and that was it! Dumbledore was pleading with him, and he just went ahead and killed him!” Draco dissolved into tears again. “It’s all my fault!”

I couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be. Snape loved Dumbledore like a father, or so I had always thought. The way Snape used to talk about Dumbledore led me to believe that there was more to their relationship than just Headmaster and Professor. I could see it merely by the fact that Snape had remained at Hogwarts for as long as he had, despite the continual frustration of being denied his desired post. That bit of gossip went back to my First Year, and indeed, I could see its truth. Some students also suggested that Dumbledore had saved Snape’s life, gotten him out of his life with the Death Eaters, and that Snape was now indebted to him forever.

Why would he kill him?

“Why did he do it?” I said aloud.

Draco shook his head. He sniffled. “I don’t know. At first I thought it was to steal my glory, but I don’t know any more. After he did it and we had disapparated, we arrived at this old house. Snape told me to stand aside and wait for him for a couple of minutes, and then he went off by himself into the woods. At first, I thought it was to have a pee, but then I heard the sounds of gagging and vomiting…and I’m pretty sure I heard weeping, too.”

“Did you go in there to check on him?”

“Are you mad? He’s a very private person, you know, prides himself on being entirely inscrutable. I think he does it to stay safe, you know, not let on to anyone what he might be thinking or feeling. But when he’s alone, who knows what he does or thinks or feels? I didn’t want to insult him by invading that moment.”

I suddenly loved my brother.

“So then what?” I asked.

“When he came out, he looked his usual self, though I’ll admit there was considerable strain on his face by then. I guess I can’t blame him. After all, he had just killed someone. We went into the house together, to meet with the Dark Lord and his advisors.”

“Like your Aunt Bellatrix?”

“Among others. There were a lot of people there.”

“Was You-Know-Who satisfied with the invasion?”

“Partly, but not entirely. He had wanted an entire takeover of the school, which didn’t happen. He was pretty upset that you had gotten away. That made me proud.”

“Did Snape know you helped me escape?”

“No. I kept that from him. The Dark Lord at least was satisfied that Dumbledore was dead, even if he didn’t get you. But, he wasn’t happy about how it happened. He wanted me to do it personally.”

“Why should it matter who did it as long as it got done?”

“Revenge.”

“That’s what your mother said.”

“She’s right. But then the Dark Lord found out also that I had lowered my wand, and that really enraged him.”

“Did you get in trouble? Did he yell at you?”

“He never really yells at you, but you know he’s furious. One thing I know for sure is that he plans to kill me for this,” Draco said, too plainly. His hands shook.

“Did he torture you?”

“I thought he would, like he had done in December and in March, but he didn’t. I was ready for it. But then he sort of let it drop and instead, gave all sorts of honour and praise to Snape for his loyalty and cruelty and cleverness. He used all this elevated language to insinuate to me that my failure by contrast was a sign of treachery and cowardice. And all the praise Snape got told me that I would only get death.”

“How do you reckon that?”

“Because the whole time, the Dark Lord looked right at me. I could just tell. I could feel his fury somehow.”

“You didn’t use Legilimency on him, did you?”

Draco laughed loud and long at that. “On the Dark Lord? The greatest Occlumens the world has ever known? I know a bit of Legilimency, enough for half-wits like you, but not for someone like him.”

“So were you imprisoned?”

“No. You’d think I would be, but I got the feeling that I was going to be led off into the woods by a couple of Death Eaters and killed on the spot, that very night. I made up the excuse that I had to use the bathroom, and I got the hell out of that house and disapparated. I first came here, then straight to London, then to Wales, then to Dover. That’s where I took the Polyjuice Potion, to look like Goyle. Then I came here.”

“Why Goyle?”

“I had a feeling there would be Death Eaters in the woods nearby, and I knew no one would question Goyle’s presence here, since we’re mates. I have just enough to get back out in the morning, in full view of everyone who is lying in wait for me.”

It suddenly occurred to me that if they were lying in wait for Draco, they would also be waiting for me.

“Draco, who knows that I’m here?” I asked.

“Only me, Mother, Blaise’s mum and the House Elf. The Elf has been instructed under strict orders not to reveal your presence here, even after you leave.”

“Do you think I should? Leave, that is.”

“Why should you? No one knows you’re here, and Mother is happy to have you here.”

“But she wants to use me against You-Know-Who.”

“She won’t if I tell her not to,” Draco said sternly.

“But what about Mrs. Zabini? She wants to use me, too. She may have told others about my being here.”

Draco scowled. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. “Shit. But I still think you’re safe here for a while. In fact, use this time to brew some Polyjuice Potion, and then use my mother’s hair in it. That’ll get you out safely.”

I liked that idea, though the idea of being a lady, even for an hour, seemed sort of disturbing to me. Does that make me sexist? I hope not.

* * * * *

I didn’t sleep well that night. I had been relegated to the guest room, which was almost as luxurious as Draco’s room. He permitted me (yes, _permitted_ ) to wear the same green nightshirt I had been wearing these last few days. He had said to me with some disdain, “Well, you’ve already soiled it, so you may as well keep wearing it.” Nice brother, right? My dreams were filled with images of Death Eaters playing Quidditch and of Dumbledore’s dead body hovering over the Quidditch pitch, like a ghost or something.

The next morning, I went down to breakfast to find Draco alone.

“Where’s your mum?” I asked.

“In her rooms, crying her eyes out,” he replied. He looked upset. “She doesn’t want me to go, but I told her I have to.”

“Do you have a destination?”

“Yeah, but I’m not telling anyone where it is.”

I nodded. “Are you going to be OK out there on your own?”

He shrugged. “I think so. I’ll do what I have to do to survive.”

“It’s hard being out there on your own like that, you know. I’ve been there before, and it’s not fun.”

“I guess you are the expert, aren’t you? Well you won’t find me eating rubbish anyway.”

I blushed at that. Naturally, Draco would remember an embarrassing detail like that. I sat down at the table with him and helped myself to toast and jam. The Elf poured me some coffee. Draco was already on his second helping of eggs and bacon.

“It gets lonely, out there on your own,” I said, remembering long, harrowing nights in dark alleys, feeling completely disconnected from the world. “That’s the hardest part about being on the run. You have to be really strong within yourself and know how to keep your own spirits up. It’s a mind game, the whole survival thing. There’s not going to be anyone for you to rely on, so all you have is your own self.”

Draco nodded, not looking at me. “I wish I had another option in this, but I don’t. It’s either this or a very early death, or a long stint in Azkaban.” He wiped his mouth on his napkin and stood up. “Well, it’s time for me to get going. It’s getting late. I’ve got to go before Mum comes back downstairs.”

I stood up and gave him a tight embrace. “Good luck out there, Draco,” I said. “You’ll be OK. You’re strong and you’re clever. You’ll be able to stay ten steps ahead of the Death Eaters.”

He nodded and embraced me again. “Take care of yourself, too,” he said. “You’ve got a bit of hiding to do, too.”

“I know.”

“Be good to my mother and make sure she doesn’t go back to the Dark Lord, OK?”

“OK.”

“And don’t let Francesca Zabini or my mother exploit you or push you around, OK?”

“OK.”

Draco picked up his flask of Polyjuice Potion and drained it in a single chug. He made a terrible face, as if he had just consumed poison, and the next thing I knew, his entire body and face began to change, until he looked exactly like that oaf, Gregory Goyle. The transformation was a weird combination of the sickeningly fascinating and the distressingly painful, but the end result was astonishingly real. He swooned for a moment.

“That was disgusting,” he said, trying not to gag. Draco picked up his bag and headed to the front door. “Well, brother, I guess I’ll be seeing you some time. Hopefully sooner than later. Bye.” 

And with a simple wave of the hand, he schlumped out the door, in a very Goyle-ish manner, making his way down the path, then out the front gates and away. As I watched him from the window, I felt empty, abandoned. I was entirely on my own now, with too many things to consider for myself. I returned to dining table, where I finished my breakfast, my mind preoccupied with questions and no answers.

The rest of the day, I spent alone, back in the library glancing through spellbooks, trying to figure out how to get out of the house and trying to figure out what sorts of charms Narcissa and Mrs. Zabini placed on the house to keep me there. I found a thick volume on protective charms, including protecting buildings and even on making buildings unplottable—very complicated magic, needing teams of people to do it properly. I didn’t suppose that Malfoy Manor was unplottable, but on the other hand, they obviously had charmed it so that I couldn’t get out. Draco had no problem, even as Goyle, getting out, so the charm had to do with me specifically. I wondered how that could happen. Maybe it was some sort of Dark Magic. Then again, maybe it was just something complicated.

After two hours of fruitless searching, I turned my attention to other sorts of protective charms, those that could protect my body and my life. That seemed of paramount importance. There was the common spell, _Protego_ , the Shield Charm we learned this year, and was even a Shield Potion you could take—but it took four weeks to brew, and as it turned out, it could only be done in the winter months. I also found a chapter on protective bonds between people. One in particular caught my interest. It was called the Legacy Bond, something transmitted from mother to child during the last month of pregnancy. The child with the Legacy Bond would be protected from lethal curses if and only if he or she vowed to continue the parent’s legacy. This could be a good thing if the parents were good, of course, but if the parents were like mine, it could be an extremely bad thing.

Finally, the hour grew late, and I suddenly realised I had been in the library for most of the day. I hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast, and I was terribly hungry. I put all the books away and made my way to the dining room—I could smell roast beef and fresh bread and vegetables. Narcissa and Mrs. Zabini and another woman sat at the table eating dinner and chatting quietly. When they caught sight of me, they all jumped to their feet and smiled broadly at me.

“My lord,” Narcissa said. “Your dinner is waiting for you. It’s still very hot. Please, sit with us.”

She gestured for me to sit at the head of the table, which I did. I held my chin high, as Draco would have done, and took my place.

“My lord,” Narcissa said, indicating the new woman, “this is Miss Cassandra Avery.”

Miss Cassandra Avery bowed her head toward me very reverently. “My lord, a great honour,” she said suppliantly.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, helping myself to the roast beef. But suddenly Mrs. Zabini stopped me.

“Oh no, let me,” she said. So I let her serve me. Who was I to argue?

“Tell me about yourself, Miss Avery,” I said.

She was not quite pretty, but she wasn’t unattractive, either. She had very black hair, parted down the middle and sort of brushed back so that it hung straight down her back. She had a long, sort of aquiline nose, and very pale, very strong features. There was something rather exotic about her. Her dark eyes had a certain energy to them, making them both beautiful and fierce. I found myself sort of attracted to her, even though she was clearly a good fifteen years older than I, maybe more.

“What would you like to know, my lord?” she asked smoothly.

“What brings you here, for starters? Are you a friend to my mother?”

“Your mother and I were quite close at one time, my lord,” she said. “Her death was a terrible loss. I have remained allied with the Dark Lord, of course, though I am not a Death Eater. A reliable but anonymous source informed me of your presence here, and so I rushed to be at your side.”

“I thought only Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Zabini knew I was here,” I said, very annoyed. I was also masking a sudden terror. “Are you telling stories about me?” I asked dangerously.

“Of course not,” Narcissa said. “But certain persons may have simply assumed you would come here.”

“Why would they?”

“Because of my husband, of course.”

Oh yeah. Duh. I really am thick. “But you let her into your house?” I said, trying to be cross with her.

“If I may, Narcissa,” Miss Avery said. “I arrived with dear Francesca this afternoon. We met some time ago, don’t you remember, Francesca?”

“In Milan, wasn’t it?”

“Precisely,” Miss Avery said, looking pleased. She was starting to give me the creeps, if you want to know the truth. “My family, of course, has been allied with the Dark Lord since the very beginning. One of my ancestors, in fact, was at school with the Dark Lord.”

“But you turned from him?” I asked.

“Your mother’s influence was very powerful, particularly as a witch in a world so often dominated by wizards.”

“And yet you all want me to take my mother’s place, right?”

Miss Avery raised an eyebrow wickedly. “We know your origins, my lord. Her mark is strong upon you.”

OK, now that just freaked me out completely. What did this woman know about my being marked? Who was she, anyway? I suddenly wished her to leave, but I knew it wasn’t up to me to chuck her out. After all, it wasn’t my house. But it gave me another reason to want to leave as soon as possible.

“And how long are you planning on staying here, Miss Avery?” I asked.

“I’m just visiting today with Francesca, and then I shall return very soon. But I assure you, our plans are coming together quite nicely.” Her dark eyes flashed with a gleeful fury. I lost my appetite.

When we finished dinner, I returned to the safety of Draco’s room, making the excuse that I was tired and wanted to sleep. From what I could tell, the ladies went into the library to finish their business. After a while, I wondered what they were discussing, and how this might affect me. I started to think that maybe I should be down there with them, just in case…

* * * * *

She was alone, sipping brandy and wiping her eyes again. Narcissa Malfoy looked starkly beautiful in the candlelight, lounging casually on the salon-lit in the library. She looked up when I entered.

“Did we disturb you?” she asked.

“No, not at all. Did they go already?”

She sniffled and nodded her head.

“He’s going to be OK,” I said. “He’s a tough bloke. He’ll be fine.”

She took a sip of her brandy and wiped her eyes dry. I poured myself a glass and joined her. I had never had brandy before my stay there, and I don’t think I’ll ever have it again. It tasted like petrol, or so I thought. But I wanted to be polite, so I sipped genteelly and behaved myself. My mind, however, was swimming with questions.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” I asked.

“Please.”

“What was she like? My mother, that is?”

Narcissa frowned. “She was the most awful, most amazing, most formidable woman I have ever met in my life.”

“Even at school?”

“Oh yes, even then.”

“She and my father were close, even then?”

“She was his rebellion against his family and mine. We were promised to each other from childhood, as Draco is to Pansy Parkinson. I was delighted with the arrangement, but Lucius…needed time to accept it, I think. Like most men, he wanted to, shall we say, sample as many women as he could.”

“So that was all it was? Just a fling? I got the impression it was more than that.”

“Like I said before, he knew his duty in the long run. Besides, he wasn’t your mother’s only lover.”

“I know. I’ve heard.”

“She slept with Severus Snape, you know.”

OK, that one really shocked me. Snape wasn’t the sort of bloke that struck me as being remotely interesting in anything carnal. He was too busy being a bully and brewing his little potions to care about much else, or so I thought. Narcissa grinned.

“You didn’t know, did you?” she asked.

“I had no idea. Was it just a one night fling or…”

“Oh no, it went on for a while. A good six months, at least.”

Wow. That just floored me. Snape with my mother! Snape with anyone! Incredible!

“But don’t worry,” Narcissa said, “he’s not your father. When I heard that your mother was pregnant, I assumed that the baby was Severus’, but now that I see you, I know that Lucius is your father. You look too much like him to be anyone else’s son.”

“I guess that’s a good thing,” I said, relieved. I hated the thought of having to change my name to Darwin Snape. It just didn’t sound right. “If my mother hadn’t died, what would she have done with me?”

“She marked you with the Legacy Bond,” Narcissa said. “Just as I did with Draco. It’s very powerful protection, even against Unforgivable Curses. Once you become a man, as you did last month, you have an obligation to make a final choice, you see, to continue your parents’ legacy. The Legacy Bond takes effect the moment you make the choice.”

“And what did Draco choose?”

Narcissa burst into tears. “If he had chosen Lucius, he would be safe, even from the worst the Dark Lord could do to him, but now that he has rebelled…” But she couldn’t continue on. She sobbed and sobbed. I took the half filled glass from her hand, fearing she might spill it.

“But surely, Mrs. Malfoy, you don’t want your son to become evil or do evil things? If he chooses to follow Father, he’d have to commit other terrible acts. Is it worth it to preserve his life if he’s just going to lose his soul?”

She glared at me. “You have no right to say that!” she shrieked.

Whoa! What the hell? Where was this coming from? What happened to all the groveling? “I have every right to say that! Draco is my brother, and believe it or not, I care about what happens to him! There’s more to life than just what’s here on earth, Narcissa! You have to think beyond this life, too!”

Just as quickly, her eyes became filled with sorrow and regret. “You’re right. I’m sorry, my lord,” she said.

“Look, I think we’re both tired,” I said, wanting this whole day to end. “We’ve both had a bit to drink, and…”

She sighed. “You’re right. Let’s go on up to bed.”

“Exactly. Things will look brighter in the morning.”


	14. What to do with Darwin?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I sat up, with some effort. My dizzy head spun terribly. It took me a full minute to realise that I was not in Draco’s bed any more, nor in his room, nor in Malfoy Manor at all. What was going on?_

Back in Draco’s room, I settled down for the night. The day had been long and tiring and trying, and all I wanted to do was sleep. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, took a long drink of water and snuggled down into bed, safe and warm under the duvet. The moment my head hit the pillow, I fell sound asleep. Normally, I have a lot of really vivid dreams—I’m no good at interpreting my dreams, but I usually remember them when I wake up. But that night, nothing happened. Just solid, deep sleep. My body was entirely relaxed, vulnerable to whatever dark wizard might invade the house that night…

It took me a long time to wake up. I felt groggy, almost like I had been drugged. I know I’d had a bit of brandy last night, but I didn’t think it would affect me so strongly. I didn’t have a headache or feel hung over or anything. Just extremely weak and sluggish. The bed creaked under me, and as I peeled my eyes open, I glanced about at the bare walls and…

What?

I sat up, with some effort. My dizzy head spun terribly. It took me a full minute to realise that I was not in Draco’s bed any more, nor in his room, nor in Malfoy Manor at all. What was going on? The walls about me were plain, white, sterile, and I was lying on a lumpy old cot, not a bed. The only other furniture in the room was a writing desk and a rickety looking chair. The one window in the room was boarded up, and the whole place smelled musty and stale. In another room, I heard men’s voices, angry men’s voices, shouting at each other violently. Oh my gods, I thought. Was I now captured by Death Eaters?

My hands were free, and I quickly saw that I was not tied down or chained up in any way. I was entirely free to move. I struggled out of cot, and quickly eyed a simple set of black robes hanging over the chair, and a pair of muggle trainers on the top of the desk. Was I supposed to wear this? OK, so I was still dressed in Draco’s nightshirt, but I didn’t want to touch anything else. Maybe the robes were cursed or something. I remembered what happened to Katie Bell last term when she touched a cursed piece of jewelry. Maybe if I put them on, I wouldn’t be able to leave the room or move or anything. No, I decided to keep listening, to try and figure out where the heck I was.

Footsteps.

Quickly, I jumped back into the cot, pretending to be sound asleep under the threadbare old blankets. The door opened, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw three men enter the room. The first man, a middle-aged man with flaming red hair, I did not recognise, but the other two I did. The second man, shabby and scarred, was Professor Remus Lupin, our Defence teacher from Third Year. That was strange. I knew he was no Death Eater. But the third man, to my horror, was none other than Professor Snape, looking somewhat cowed and red-eyed. The door opened again, and in walked…Professor McGonagall? I opened my eyes. They all gathered around me and looked intently down at me, studying every part of me, or so it felt. I felt like a bowtruckle under observation by a class of eager-eyed Fourth Years.

I think they were waiting for me to say something, so I sat up and looked at Professor McGonagall, figuring she was the most trustworthy person in the room.

“What’s going on?” I said. “What is this place?”

“Never mind that, Mr. Smith,” she replied. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just feel a little groggy is all.” My head felt a little like it was wrapped in cotton.

McGonagall gave a sideways glace at Snape and pursed her lips.

“We need to ask you a few questions, Darwin,” Lupin said. “We need to be clear on a few things regarding you.”

“I’m not evil!” I protested, perhaps a little too loudly.

“We’re not making any accusations, OK?” Lupin replied, taken somewhat aback. I guess I did come a bit too forcefully.

But then Snape intervened. “Smith, why don’t you get dressed and come down to breakfast? We’ll be waiting for you there. And in case you’re wondering, those robes are not cursed.”

I blushed hotly. I hated it when he could detect my thoughts like that. Jerk.

When I came down to the dining room a few minutes later, there was an entire assembly of people waiting for me, most of whom I did not know. Snape, McGonagall, Lupin and the red-headed man were there, but also a tall, bald black man, a pretty young witch with fierce blue hair who I recognised from Hogwarts, a plump red-headed woman, and the jagged, scarred face of Professor Moody. For some reason, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were also present. 

I was introduced to everyone. The red-heads, as it turned out, were Arthur and Molly Weasley, Ron’s parents. The black man was an Auror, Kingsley Shaklebolt, and the blue-haired witch was another Auror, Nymphadora Tonks. They were all a part of something called the Order of the Phoenix, which I had vaguely heard of. But none of this sounded good to me, especially if they welcomed a murderer like Severus Snape into their ranks. Just who were these people? And why should three Aurors be a part of their organisation? Then again, I knew that Professor McGonagall was a very good person, which made me more confused.

“I’m glad that Severus got you here in one piece,” Molly said. “We worried that he wouldn’t be able to find you at all.”

“Did Draco tell you?” I asked Snape.

“I haven’t seen him in days. It just made sense that you would be at Malfoy Manor,” he replied. “Your brother may have his faults, but one thing that Draco does care about is family. I imagine he got you out of the castle, correct?”

I was incensed by his hypocrisy. “Before we discuss my brother’s sins, SNAPE, how about YOURS?” I said harshly. “Why should I tell YOU anything?”

Snape blanched. The rest of the people in the room looked away.

“Darwin,” McGonagall said gently, “we have already had it from Severus as to why he did what he did. And we’ve accepted his explanation.”

“Then you’re not what I thought you were,” I replied in a hard voice.

“Darwin,” Hermione said, “you have to believe her…”

“Forget it, Hermione!” I spat. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s a cold-blooded murderer! He can rot in hell!”

Now, McGonagall got angry. “That is enough, Darwin! If we can be satisfied with his explanation, then so should you!”

“I don’t even know what it is! Enlighten me! I’m dying to know!” I was such a sarcastic prat.

Snape looked like he wanted to strangle me. But McGonagall saved the moment. She sat me down at the head of the dining table and sat next to me. She always had a sort of motherly way about her.

“Severus had no choice but to sacrifice Albus…”

“Oh! Is that what murder is called now? Sacrifice?” I saw Snape out of the corner of my eye, looking mutinous. I held my ground like the fool I am.

“In this case, yes, it was sacrifice,” she explained.

“I want to hear it from Snape, not you,” I said. The whole _my lord_ thing had gone to my head. “Tell me about this so-called sacrifice!”

McGonagall made room for Snape to sit next to me. I could see great pain in his face, and suddenly, I felt stupid. I didn’t want to hear it any more, but Snape had already started the story.

“If you must know, Mr. Smith,” he began, sounding tired and strained, “then here it is. Professor Dumbledore knew that the only thing standing in the way of Potter killing the Dark Lord was himself. The only way to end the war is to kill the Dark Lord, and therefore, Professor Dumbledore understood that his life would have to be sacrificed, for Potter’s sake, if it came to that. For everyone’s sake.”

That actually made sense. “Why you, then?” I asked, a little chastened.

“I have committed a great many sins in my life, Smith, and I’ve seen a very dark side of human life.”

“When you were a Death Eater?” I had forgotten my anger by then, and now, I just wanted to know more.

“Yes. Albus…Professor Dumbledore, that is, saved my life. He made a solemn promise to me, that I would always have his protection so long as I followed his orders without question. So when he ordered me to sacrifice him…” Snape paused, his voice heavy with grief.

“You didn’t want to do it, did you?” I asked, looking into his eyes.

He shook his head no. “It was also for the sake of your brother that I did this. Professor Dumbledore and I both knew that once Draco had killed a first time, he would not hesitate to kill a second time. If he had killed, I’m afraid your brother would have become a monster.”

“Because of the Legacy Bond?” I asked.

Snape’s eyes widened. “Ah yes, Narcissa must have told you.”

“She told me a lot of things. She told me about you and my mother.”

Hermione and Ron gaped at each other for a moment, shocked by that little bit of gossip. I probably shouldn’t have said it.

“Oh yes, that. It lasted a few months.” He actually admitted it. I was floored by his candour.

“Were you in love with her?” Both of us had quite forgotten that there were nine other curious sets of ears in the room.

“She was an integral part of a larger lust I had developed.”

“For the Dark Arts?”

“And power.”

“Was she the one who seduced you to the Dark Side?”

Snape scowled. “Interesting choice of words, Smith,” he said wryly.

Before he could say any more, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. “I trust that by now, Mr. Smith, you are satisfied?”

I nodded yes.

“Good,” she said. “Then we have a few questions for you. Firstly, how did you get out of the castle?”

“Draco showed me how. He told me to escape through the cabinet in the Room of Requirement.”

Shaklebolt frowned. “He sent you straight into Borgin’s?”

“He said I should stun anyone who I encountered. But then someone else stunned me—his mum, in fact. She was the one who took me to her house. Draco told her where I’d be, so she came and sort of took care of things.”

“Did anyone else visit Malfoy Manor whist you were there?” Shaklebolt asked.

“Francesca Zabini and another woman, a Cassandra Avery. They were both there to talk about a rebellion against You-Know-Who. They thought they could use me, I guess, like I would be some sort of leader or figurehead.”

“To take your mother’s place?” Shaklebolt asked.

“Exactly. But I had already made my choice not to follow my mother’s legacy…”

“You do know what that means for you,” Snape asked. “You will not have the protections of the Legacy Bond.”

“I know. I don’t want it anyway. I want to make my own choices, just like I always have. I don’t want to sell my soul just for a few extra years of life. And for the record, neither does Draco.”

“Then you saw him?” Moody asked, sounding almost ravenous.

“Briefly. I don’t know where he is now. He wouldn’t tell me.” I paused. “Look, am I under arrest or something?”

Shaklebolt sat back and grinned at me. “I think we’re satisfied that you’re telling us the truth. But we do want to know more about this rebellion.”

“I don’t know much about it or if it will even happen. I think Narcissa Malfoy is involved, and Francesca Zabini and this Avery woman, too.”

Snape snorted, muffling a snigger at my expense. “Didn’t Miss Avery look somewhat familiar to you, Smith?”

“No. I’d never…” Wait…long black hair, hooked nose, pale skin, arrogant attitude… “Polyjuice Potion?” I asked him.

“Something a bit cleaner than that, Smith,” he replied. “A bit of Transfiguration I developed recently.”

“You mean, some sort of gender-bender charm?” Ron asked abruptly. He laughed.

Snape raised a mischievous eyebrow. “Something like that, Mr. Weasley. I wouldn’t recommend it for you, however. You might not be able to transfigure back.”

Hermione giggled at the thought of Ron as a girl. That was actually pretty funny.

“Why would you do that?” I asked, completely mystified by his rather drastic and dangerous action.

“To get you out of that house, of course!”

“Why didn’t you just let me stay there?” I asked. “Draco gave me his assurances that I wouldn’t be harmed.”

“Not by Narcissa, naturally,” Snape replied smoothly. “But let us not forget that any number of Death Eaters could enter that house. If she barred them from entering, her treason would be exposed.”

“He has a point,” Ron murmured to no one in particular.

“Professor Snape,” I asked, “do you know where Draco is?”

“No. And for the present, it’s best that we do not try and find him. I’m afraid we are going to have to let him take care of himself.”

“Do you think he’ll be OK?”

“I don’t know. He’s clever and cunning, but he’s not good in a crisis. He tends to get reckless. My hope is that he’ll settle down far away from here and not surface until Potter’s done his duty.” But I could see that Snape was worried. So was I.

“Unfortunately for you, Mr. Smith,” McGonagall said, “you will not be safe at Hogwarts any longer. The prejudice against you is too fierce because of the stories in the newspaper.”

“Then why not refute them?” I said. “Why can’t I tell my story to the paper and set the record straight?”

“We need you to seem evil for now,” Shaklebolt said. “It will keep You-Know-Who’s people off guard, giving Harry a better chance at finishing him off.”

“But what about my reputation?” I said, offended.

“Unfortunately, your reputation is already damaged,” Shaklebolt said grimly.

“But I want a chance to defend myself! I deserve that!”

“You do, but not now,” McGonagall said.

“All of us are on your side in this,” Tonks said.

“Absolutely,” Molly said. “Once we are all free to speak openly, we can tell the story that you were under our protection the whole time. Everyone in this room will stand up for you publicly.”

That made me feel only a little better. But would anyone really believe it? Would Neville? Would Padma?

“So what am I supposed to do now?” I asked, despairing more than a little.

“That’s what we’ve been arguing about all morning,” Lupin admitted. “We considered sending you back to Malfoy Manor…”

“You did, Lupin,” Snape said tartly.

“I did, yes. But I was shouted down by everyone else. Arthur and Molly want you to stay here, at Grimmauld Place, though there are risks involved with that, too.”

“And you’re sure I can’t go back to school?” I asked, downcast.

“That is out of the question,” McGonagall said. “We’re still deciding whether to open our doors in September.”

“We could put him there for the summer, Minerva,” Snape suggested. “That will give us some time to find a better place to hide him.”

McGonagall’s face softened. “True.”

“No one much is about—just Hagrid and Filch and Sybil, of course,” Snape said. “I can pop in from time to time, to make sure he hasn’t burned the place down with some misfired spell. The House Elves are there, so the kitchens are open.”

“Could we visit him?” Hermione asked. “I expect he’ll get bored all by himself.”

“I think that would be alright,” McGonagall said. “And of course, I’ll be there a good part of the summer. And I think Filius will stop in from time to time. Madame Pomfrey will not be there, however, so if a medical issue arises, Darwin, you’ll have to go to Hagrid.”

What was she expecting, that I’d come down with cancer over the summer?

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Professor,” I assured her. “I’m disgustingly healthy, and with all that food from the House Elves, I’ll probably gain a ton of weight.”

And so, just like that, off I went to Hogwarts, escorted personally by McGonagall, Lupin and Snape. Just as soon as we had entered the gates of the castle, however, Snape excused himself and walked furtively out the gates. With a little pop, he disapparated.

“Couldn’t stand being back at the scene of the crime?” I asked snidely.

“He has more to do, actually,” Lupin replied, taking me by the arm and leading me into the empty castle.

Back I went to Ravenclaw, to my old room, my comfortable bed. To my shock and furor, all my things had been ransacked—my trunk looked as if a cyclone had hit it, scattering my things everywhere. I don’t know what they were looking for. Fortunately, I had my Gringott’s key still on a chain around my neck, so I couldn’t be robbed. Then it dawned on me. The two Death Eaters sent to search for me must have been the ones who tore apart my things. As I went through everything, I could tell that nothing was missing, except an old hairbrush and a photograph of me and Padma.

If you learn nothing else about magic, know this. If you ever find yourself going to some palm reader or tarot card reader, all of which is total bosh, by the way, NEVER give them anything personal of yours. Once they possess your likeness in a photograph, or a hair or some personal talisman of yours, they can manipulate you and cause all sorts of trouble. That’s the real magic, not all that stuff about lifelines or anything. A dark witch or wizard with a bit of you in their possession can make your life a living hell. I found that out some time later.

Anyway, I spent some time straightening my things and making my bed. It felt so weird being in my room totally alone. Usually Michael or Anthony were coming in and out, making small talk or starting a pillow fight or cracking stupid jokes about Hufflepuffs and trolls. But now it was just me. The peace and quiet was nice, but…

* * * * *

Having free reign in a place like Hogwarts is challenging and fun and filled with new wonders. I knew the castle was a stronghold of ancient magic, and that it held many secrets within its stone walls. It felt a little like spelunking, even though there weren’t any caves in the school at all. What I quickly discovered as I walked and walked the many corridors and thin, snaking hallways, was that a good portion of the school had to have been underground. I walked past the Slytherin dungeons, and went further and further down that corridor, down flights of stairs, around corners, past paintings and statues I had never seen before, never really finding a dead end. At one point I got in so deep that I feared I might not find my way out. Lupin had taught me a clever little spell to retrace my steps, which I ended up using quite a lot during my many subterranean explorations.

My favourite room in Hogwarts was something I had dubbed The Aquarium. It was directly beneath the lake, and yet it had a glass ceiling and walls, so that I could see everything in the lake—I would lie on my back on the floor and watch the fish swim past and the merpeople commune in their own, strange way. I don’t think they ever saw me. If they did, they didn’t seem to mind my curious stare. It was so relaxing in there, so soothing. Sometimes I would fall asleep under the schools of dancing fish and undulating sea creatures, caught up in their dreamy swirl of aquatic life.

As fascinating as it all was for me, I craved human contact. I would occasionally chat with Hagrid, which was nice. I liked Hagrid much better once I didn’t have him as a teacher. It was those skrewts, to be honest, that really turned me off to him. The hippogryff was pretty cool, and I remember the nargles were sort of fun, too. But I got burned more times than I care to remember by those damn skrewts, and he never seemed to make a big deal out of it. But alone with him, one-on-one, I found him to be a pretty pleasant chap. That sounds funny, doesn’t it? Calling a half-giant a “chap”?

But it’s true, we had some good talks, and he told me a lot about the history of the castle, which interested me very much. I was tempted to ask him the logistics of his conception—how could his wizard father possibly impregnate his giantess wife? I went over it in my mind a dozen times, but each possibility seemed more incongruous and icky than the last. Plus, how could you really ask such a question? I didn’t want to be rude to Hagrid or seem overly lurid or anything, so I let the matter drop.

Hagrid remembered my mother from her days at school, though he seemed reluctant to talk much about her.

“You can tell me the worst, Hagrid,” I assured him one afternoon as we drank tea in his cabin. The tea was terrible. “You won’t be hurting my feelings or anything.”

“Nah,” he grumbled. “It’s not good ter speak ill of the dead.”

“Were you afraid of her?” I asked.

Hagrid took a deep breath. “She tried ta kill me once,” he said darkly. “Poison.”

“Why?”

“Jes’ ter see if she could.”

“Did she know you’re half-giant?”

“If she did, it wasn’t anything I said. Bu’ she was a clever girl, coulda figured it fer herself, I s’pose. She was fearless, yer mum. Fearless.”

“Didn’t she fear death? I thought all Death Eaters fear death.”

“Nah, not her. That was You-Know-Who’s fear, not hers. Tha’s wha made her more powerful than him. Tha’s what made her more brutal. She didn’t need so many followers as he did. She could take care’a herself.”

“So when people are talking about a rebellion, would it be carried out by just a few?”

Hagrid shrugged. “There ain’t many wi’ yer mum’s nerve, Darwin.”

I decided to share that information with McGonagall later that evening. She and I and Hermione Granger ate dinner together in the Great Hall. The House Elves had gone all out for us, serving prime rib, baked potatoes with sour cream, green beans, red wine, Yorkshire pudding. It was the best meal of my life.

“It amazes me to think that just a small band of people could cause so much harm,” I said, incredulous. “Is Hagrid right about her? Could she really have rebelled with just handful of lieutenants?”

“I think so. Mariah was ruthless. Unlike You-Know-Who, she made no pretense about who she was. Secrecy was useless to her. She was a woman of action.”

“Why did she wait to begin her rebellion, then?” I asked.

“She was probably waiting for the right time,” Hermione guessed. “Right when Voldemort was at the height of his powers, she could easily strike. Take advantage of his complacency.”

“True,” I conceded. Hearing You-Know-Who’s name gave me the creeps. “Only she never got that chance. Frank Longbottom took care of that.”

“But her heir apparent was already in the world,” McGonagall said grimly. I shuddered. “I believe she fully expected you to carry on her work.”

“The Legacy Bond,” I said. McGonagall nodded.

Hermione suddenly reached into her bag and pulled out a small parchment. “Speaking of which, this is for you, Darwin,” she said brightly. “I meant to give this to you when I first arrived. It’s from Neville!”

“How is he?” I asked, tearing open the letter. “Does he hate me?”

“I saw him two days ago, and I explained a few things to him. And he doesn’t hate you. In fact, he misses you.”

“Professor,” I began, but McGonagall’s stern expression prevented me from finishing my question.

“I’m sorry, Darwin,” she said firmly, “but you must remain here, and indoors. It has to be this way until we figure out where to put you in September.”

I hated that expression—where to “put” me, as if I were a trinket or a teacup or something. I was a person, one that was growing increasingly lonely and cranky and restless. It was only a matter of time before I went and did something vastly stupid. I had been patient, but that old sense of claustrophobia was settling in again, threatening to send me over the edge unless I got some relief. The letter from Neville was great, life-saving almost, but it wasn’t going to be enough. I needed my friends, my girlfriend, people and noise and distraction. The heavy, still silence that resounded all around the empty castle weighed on me, rankled my nerves increasingly.

I felt like a time bomb, ready to explode.


	15. Searching for Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Snape looked into my eyes for a moment, as if he were studying my most hidden thoughts again. I tried to make my mind go blank so he couldn’t tell what I was thinking. After a few seconds, he gave me a rather curious look._
> 
> _“So, you’re an Occlumens, I see,” he said. “When did you learn this?”_
> 
> _Er, Occlumens? Me? As if. “Uh, not really, sir.”_
> 
> _He looked a bit troubled. “Then you’re a natural,” he said._

True kindness is a rare quality in anyone. I should know—kindness has never been an easy trait for me to acquire, nor was I treated with much kindness until I arrived at Hogwarts. There are some rare people in the world, however, for whom kindness comes quite naturally. Neville is a good example; Hermione, too. And Harry—there really is something rather extraordinary about him. He has an automatic compassion for people in difficult situations, and is quick to lend his support and friendship, even when he’s got so much other stuff going on in his life. He saw a sort of kinship in someone like me, or Neville, or Luna Lovegood, people who have experienced the same sort of deprivation he did growing up. It’s funny how my whole future now rested securely in his hands. My reputation, my safety, my ability to function in the wizarding world depended entirely on Harry fulfilling his mission.

Sitting around and waiting, however, did not come easy to me. I’m a pretty rough-and-tumble sort of bloke, someone who likes to get his hands dirty and get physical. I guess you’ve seen enough of that side of me already. But I had made a promise of sorts to myself, that in spite of my rather aggressive nature, I was not going to turn into my mother or my father. Therefore, it became a question of how to channel my energy so that, instead of brawling with people, I could do something more positive and constructive. In a sense, I wanted to hand myself over to Harry’s authority. I trusted him and knew that he would not betray me to either side. Of course there was a little problem with that plan—no one, even Hermione or Ron, knew where he was. I hoped he wasn’t trying to kill my brother. And for that matter, I hoped my brother wasn’t trying to kill him.

What my own mission was still mystified me. I was starting to think, rather sarcastically, mind you, that my big purpose in life was to become invisible. I longed for action, lusted for a way out of hiding, yet everyone around me insisted that I remain underground. I knew they were right, but I hated it all the same.

As I said before, my life of quiet near-solitude at Hogwarts that summer got pretty old pretty fast. Chats with Hagrid, dinners with McGonagall, the rare stroll to the Aquarium with Hermione or Ron was OK. They were nice breaks in the monotony that my life had become. Snape visited quite often, but usually holed himself up in McGonagall’s office to talk about things that they didn’t think should concern me. I wondered. It seemed too easy to just take him back, with no questions asked. Why did Draco have to run off while Snape got preferential treatment? Snape was the killer, not Draco. I know, I know, he explained it all, and it did make sense, but I couldn’t help being angry at him all the same. I never much liked him anyway, in spite of his occasional good turns on my behalf.

More often than not, he was nasty, sarcastic, and even a little sadistic in the classroom. During my First Year, for example, when I was really struggling academically, he made no secret of his disdain for me and my poor abilities. He would routinely make rude jokes at my expense, compare me to a troll, and he even once threatened to use me in an experiment with poison, commenting that, if the poison affected my ability to think, no one would notice. In my Third Year, he made my potion disappear halfway through class, telling me coldly that it was hopelessly awful. I really wanted to Crucio his arse that day. My mother would have approved—unfortunately.

So why would Snape of all people want to rescue me from Malfoy Manor? I knew he hated me, or at least felt disgusted by me. Maybe he was jealous of my mother’s affair with Lucius or something—an old lover’s quarrel. What did he have to gain? I shared Harry’s automatic distrust of Snape, and even after hearing his story, I was not quick to give him credence.

* * * * *

As June came to an end, so did my patience. I was tired of all the explorations—I had no one to share it with, so what fun could that be? I wasn’t allowed to write to anyone, even to Neville, and Hermione and Ron seemed preoccupied with other things that summer. Even though they visited occasionally—Ron visited once, actually, Hermione three times—talk usually drifted to politics (Hermione) or sport (Ron). A little gossip here and there, just to keep me slightly informed about some of my classmates. But Hermione and Ron were friends with different people, so when I asked them about Anthony Goldstein or Terry Boot or Justin Fitch-Fletchley, they didn’t really know how they were. Ron only had bad things to say about Michael Corner, but that’s only because his sister used to date Michael. They didn’t know about Padma—all Hermione knew was that they were still in India, with no plans to return to England.

“Do you suppose you could write to Padma for me?” I asked Hermione. “You know, tell her I’m OK?”

She sighed dramatically. “I don’t know if I should, Darwin. If I did, that would mean I’d seen you and then people would know I knew your whereabouts and…”

“Never mind,” I said glumly. Unless… “Hey! Maybe you could write to Parvati and ask how they are, just as a friend, you know, a fellow Gryffindor.” I liked that idea.

Hermione considered that for a moment. “I suppose that would be OK. At least I could tell you how Padma is.”

I gave her a huge hug. “Thanks so much! I really appreciate it! It’s just that I’m feeling a bit cut off from the world.”

She gave me a little kiss on the cheek. “You must be dying of boredom,” she said sympathetically. “I wish you come out with us, even to the Three Broomsticks or something, just for a change.”

“I wish! I can’t even go outside, because if there’s some Death Eater hiding out by the gates, he might see me and tell You-Know-Who where I am.”

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, genuinely concerned. “Do you need anything?”

“Oh, let’s see, maybe…freedom?” I said sarcastically.

She laughed. So did I.

“I guess not, Hermione, unless you know a spell to increase patience. I wish I had an Invisibility Cloak. Then I could go anywhere! Hey, I could brew some Polyjuice Potion and go around as you!”

She ran a protective hand over her bushy brown hair. “I don’t think so, Darwin. One of me is more than enough. I think you’re just going to have to sit tight and wait.”

“Well, I’ve two more months here, unless they keep the school shut for the term. Do you think they will?”

Hermione looked horror struck. “Gods, I hope not! I’d hate to think I’d miss my Seventh Year! I don’t want you to miss it, either.”

I sighed. “Well, we both know what needs to happen, then.”

As nice as it was to see someone my own age, once Hermione left, I got even more depressed. I tried to solace myself by exploring the Library, which turned out to be even more interesting than the Malfoy’s. Wanting to know more about how to protect myself, I thought it might be a good idea to see just how bad dark magic really could be. It was a risky mode of research, knowing my origins and all, but I thought it might be good to know. I never intended to use dark magic or anything, mind you, but knowing more about it could turn out to be useful. I was sure that even Professor Snape couldn’t argue with that. He gave us this lecture last year on the Dark Arts as if it were a thing of beauty or something. Freaked me out, to be honest.

With Madame Pince gone for the summer, searching out new volumes to add to the already formidable collection at Hogwarts, the entire Library, including the Restricted Section, was open to me. I took full advantage of this, heading first for the section she called _Magyck Moste Evill—DANGER_. It occurred to me that my mother likely frequented this section of the Library when she was at school, illegally, of course, so I thought this was the best place to start. What sort of book would grab Mariah Potter’s attention? Each volume looked darker and more disturbing than the previous.

There was a plain blue volume, simply titled Pain. I’d start with that, since she was sort of the Queen of the Cruciatus Curse. I also found one called The Secrets of Murder, which told the reader how to kill someone and dispose of the body undetected. My mother was sure to like that one. Then, I found fascinating little book called Understanding the Central Nervous System: Games Wizards Play. That one gave me the creeps.

I took all these volumes back to my room, climbed into bed with a plate of sandwiches and a tall glass of milk, and read long into the night. The book on pain, I’m ashamed to admit, fascinated me more than it should have. It also made me rather sick, but I was astonished at just what you could do to cause constant, agonising pain to another human being. I’ll skip the details—too horrid—but I was sort of impressed by how creative wizards can be in conjuring up new ways of torturing others. It’s sad, really, when you think about it. Couldn’t we do better with our talents, wizard or muggle, use our powers to increase love and peace, rather than pain and suffering? I thought about so many of the muggles I lived with as a child, how much they seemed to really enjoy tormenting me physically and emotionally. I guess sadism is universal.

If my mother had been good, if she had been committed to unity and dignity, maybe You-Know-Who could have been long gone. Maybe then, she would still be alive and we really could have been a family. Evil may rage, but in the end, it eats itself.

To be honest, reading the first book was so upsetting to me that I never got around to the other two. I had learned my lesson, most of all that I didn’t have the stomach to become like my mother. That actually gave me some hope.

But when I bumped into Professor Snape on my way back to the Library the next day, those books in my arms, he stopped me to have a look.

“Reading, I see, Smith,” he said snidely. “Beginner’s luck.”

“Well I was just too busy having a life, unlike some,” I replied.

He narrowed his eyes at me for a quick moment, then snatched the books out of my arms. As he scanned the titles, his expression went from mildly annoyed to outright furious. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the volumes.

“And what are you doing with these?” he hissed at me.

“I was just doing some more research,” I said. That was true.

“Researching the dark arts?” he growled.

“Isn’t that a good idea? To defend myself, I thought…”

“You thought what?”

Now I got flustered. This wasn’t going well at all. “I…I just thought that…you said in class that we need to understand the dark arts to battle them, and…well that’s all I was doing, sir.” I added the “sir” to try and placate him. Jerk.

It actually worked, my explanation, I mean. His face softened a little, and he handed the books back to me.

“I see you were actually listening. Curious. Your intentions are reasonable, Smith, I’ll admit,” he said, his voice now patient and calm, “but your method is reckless and very dangerous. This sort of reading might be alright for some, like Miss Granger, but you are in another category.”

“Because of my mother, you mean?” I said, a little defencive.

“And your father. You are more likely to use the dark arts than Miss Granger,” he said pointedly. Before I could protest, he cut across me and continued. “Remember what I said to you before, Smith. I understand you very well. I know it is to desire revenge.”

He had me there. I decided to take a risk and perhaps, capitalise on his knowledge and experience, especially as we did share a lot in common. I would have to put my dislike of him aside.

“Sir,” I asked, “do you suppose you could help me a little, maybe give me a bit of advice?”

“Advice? On what?” he replied, more than a bit suspicous.

“It’s just that, well, considering everything going on, I really need to know how to protect myself against people like You-Know-Who. I don’t think fist-fighting is going to get me very far.”

Snape actually cracked an almost smile. It looked like it pained him a bit. “Well, there are a few things I suppose I could tell you, considering your situation. But no more books of that sort. I shall give you a reading list this afternoon. You will find me in the Great Hall.”

“Thank you, sir.”

That afternoon, just as he said, there he was, casually drinking coffee at the top table, reading the _Daily Prophet_. He did not look up when I approached, but motioned a long finger at the chair next to him.

“Walk around, the table, Smith. Do not climb over it.”

Drat. I was going to have to close my mind so he couldn’t figure out what I was thinking.

The moment I sat next to him, he set down his paper, and with a flick of his wand, made his coffee cup vanish. Bloody show-off. I really wanted to stomp on him, but I needed his knowledge too much. Of course, I didn’t want him to know that. He looked into my eyes for a moment, as if he were studying my most hidden thoughts again. I tried to make my mind go blank so he couldn’t tell what I was thinking. After a few seconds, he gave me a rather curious look.

“So, you’re an Occlumens, I see,” he said. “When did you learn this?”

Er, Occlumens? Me? As if. “Uh, not really, sir.”

He looked a bit troubled. “Then you’re a natural,” he said. “Normally, Occlumency takes time to learn, and some of our thicker students never learn it. Shutting me out completely on a first try is quite impressive, Smith. I never would have suspected that you have such potential.” I think he actually meant that.

But what he mean by potential? Potential for what? I was a bit suspicious of the greedy expression on his face, but I decided to trust him, for the present anyway.

“Mr. Smith, so far, you have been at best, a second-rate wizard. Yes, you did well on some of your O.W.L’s, but your class performance has been deplorably substandard.”

“I resent that, sir!” I said strongly. “I’ve worked bloody hard to improve my grades! I know I had a slow start, but I was at a disadvantage!”

Surprisingly, he didn’t reproach me for my rudeness. “Your problem, Smith is that you don’t work to your potential. This is not entirely your fault, so I won’t reproach you for your cheek just now. But you obviously have tremendous natural gifts. It’s up to you to develop them so you don’t end up like any other third-rate wizard.”

I blushed. “You said I was second-rate.”

“In fact,” he continued, ignoring me, “this is an opportune time for you to work toward that potential, while you’re stuck here.”

“I guess. Sir, do you suppose…”

He scowled briefly, knowing what I was about to ask. He didn’t have to be a Legilimens to figure that one out. It wasn’t that I particularly wanted to spend tons of quality time with him, because I didn’t. I hated his cold demeanour and his arrogance. Plus, there was no guarantee that he would agree to help me out. All I knew was that I needed to learn to protect myself, and Severus Snape was probably the most talented wizard I knew. He had a deep sense of magic—he knew it wasn’t just about waving a wand about and saying a few silly phrases.

“What do you expect to gain, Smith?” he asked.

“Well, defence is what I really want.”

“Not how to attack?”

I closed my mind again. “No, sir.” That was sort of a lie, but sort of not. “I don’t think that stuff would be too healthy for me to learn, if you know what I mean.”

He grunted in agreement. I tried to figure out what he was thinking, but I couldn’t. He looked like he was weighing his options or something, as if he was deciding whether it would be worth his while to give me a hint or two. I don’t know why it was such a big deal, just to give a few words of advice. Whatever.

“The best way for you to learn to protect yourself, Smith, is to get to know yourself.”

That was his advice? Know thyself? He could see my flummoxed expression, but did not attempt to clarify himself.

“I think I already know myself pretty well, sir.”

“You are seventeen. No one at seventeen knows himself.”

“You did, didn’t you?”

“No. That began some time later. There is a difference between the false knowledge of arrogance and the true knowledge of humility.”

Humility? Him? Please. “You? Humble? Right! Then I’m a pacifist!”

He frowned. “You are self-absorbed, short-sighted and very foolish, and until you learn to get over the myth of your own greatness, you will never really advance in magic or in life.”

“I’ve advanced a lot in life, if you must know,” I said rather haughtily.

“Yes, you’re quite right, Smith. You’ve advanced so far that your abysmal judgement has landed you here, rather than being able to spend time with your friends and your girlfriend. Isn’t that so?”

Bastard. OK, OK, I was ready to admit defeat. A little. As little as possible.

“Well what did you do, then?” I asked.

“That is not your business, Smith,” he said. “You and I have very different demons to battle.”

“You just said we were alike.”

“As juvenile as you are, you do have certain advantages, which you can use to protect yourself. I did not afford myself that luxury.”

I sniffed haughtily. “So my judgement isn’t entirely abysmal, then, is it?” I said sharply.

“No, it is abysmal. But it need not remain that way. That is up to you.”

Bastard. 

“Self knowledge is neither good nor evil,” Snape continued. “What you do with that knowledge is another matter. But seeking to know yourself on a deeper level can be a very healthy thing. You have focused on the negative aspects of your background, seen only the dark side of your origins. But you have also been given the rare gift of incredible powers, which can be used differently from how your parents used them.”

“True,” I conceded. OK, very true.

“Are you familiar with the term, _Animagus_ , Smith?”

“Sure. An Animagus transforms into an animal at will.”

“If you start working to the potential you have, I believe you can learn to become an Animagus.”

“Why would I want to become an animal?” I asked.

Snape frowned at me impatiently. “You really are thick sometimes,” he grumbled. “It can save your life, and furthermore, it will allow you to remain at school if the other students return.”

Actually, the idea was entirely brilliant, I had to admit. It meant I could attend my lessons and see my friends. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to talk to them, but I could still be around them. And if Padma came back, maybe…

“So what sort of animal would I become, sir?” I asked.

“You’ll need to decide that with Professor McGonagall,” he replied. “She should be the one to teach you personally.”

“Why not you, sir?”

“Because I am not an Animagus, whereas she is.”

He had a point. OK, it wasn’t like I was dying to spend lots of time with the bloke. I still couldn’t stand him. It’s just funny how we so often seek the approval of those we dislike. Maybe it goes back to childhood or something, trying to please our parents or in my case, our caretakers. I think it must be a power trip. If I can get someone I dislike to approve of me, then maybe I’m better than him or her. So there I was, in the Great Hall with Severus Snape, hating him yet truly relishing the rare compliment he had just given me.

Rare gifts? Me? Could it be that there was something positive about being related to my mother and father? I suppose so, I mean, no one can deny their amazing powers, even if they did use them for evil. I would be better than they, resolve to take advantage of whatever gifts Snape saw in me and use them for good.

Now if only I knew what those gifts were.

He said I was an Occlumens without trying. I guess I would need to learn more about Occlumency then, to figure out how to increase that power. Actually, it’s really funny that I have that gift. After all, there was no one around Hogwarts to penetrate my mind in the first place! How ironic! But if I could do that without trying, I wondered what it would take to be an Animagus. Was that something that came naturally? Harry’s father was an Animagus, so maybe it ran in the family. On the other hand, Harry was not one, nor was my mother. But if Harry tried to become one, would he learn it with ease? Maybe I would. But what animal?

I had lots of choices, but only a few seemed feasible, if I were to remain at Hogwarts. Therefore, I supposed a giraffe or a tiger were out of the question. I didn’t want to become an insect, or else I’d get squished by someone, and I didn’t want to become a reptile—too much like the Slytherins.

And then it hit me. Of course! Why didn’t I think of it first? An owl! That was perfect!

I didn’t see anyone for the next couple of days. To my dismay, Snape suddenly had to leave, and McGonagall was off to meet with the Board of Governors. Hagrid was busy mending things around the school, and even nasty old Mr. Filch was away on a brief holiday. I had the castle entirely to myself.

Back in the Library, I found a book called, Animagi: Methodology and Practice. The first chapter was all about the general uses of Animagi and the reasons why witches and wizards chose to become Animagi in the first place. Mostly it was for protection or for privacy. In fact, when you register as an Animagus, you have to offer a reason why you’re doing it. That rather amused me. My reason would be: _to protect myself against Death Eaters and any other Dark Witch or Wizard who wishes to kill or exploit me. Oh yes, and so that I can continue my education._ Not really a reason I could make public.

I flipped through the next couple of chapters until I found the one on how to do it. In fact, it was much like apparation, except that instead of “destination” it was “visualisation.” You had to see the animal into which you transformed. Improper visualisaiton could result in disastrous results. You might turn into a hybrid, and then you might need a team of Healers to turn you back to yourself. And if it was a really disastrous attempt, you might not be able to become yourself again. I guess I’d have to wait for Professor McGonagall to return from wherever she was. I didn’t want to risk becoming a flamingo or a dodo bird for the rest of my life.


	16. My Life as an Owl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Becoming an owl, though—that was really exciting. I thought of all the things I could do, all the places I could go. I mean, I know how to apparate, so technically I can go where I want. But in my current situation, that had become impossible. Becoming an owl brought with it the promise of freedom, at least physically. I could fly off to some remote area, become myself for a few precious moments, take in a little sunshine and feel the air on my skin again, before I would have to return to hiding._
> 
> _So when Professor McGonagall presented me in her office with a list of rules and regulations, I was sorely disappointed._

Every wizard kid wants an owl. With an owl, you can write messages to your friends and get letters back. You can communicate with people secretly, too, and with people who have moved far away. When I first entered into the wizarding world, I wondered why they used this system, rather than something more like muggle post. I never really got a good answer, other than “tradition.” 

A few years ago, muggles developed something called “mobile phones,” so that you could ring up someone on a phone, even if you’re not in a building. Wizards don’t even have regular telephones. You’d think we would develop something comparable. After all, we have the wireless radio. Some wizards own telephones and computers, but mostly, these are muggle-borns or squibs. Like most wizards, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to use any of those things. It’s been literally years since I even attempted to use a telephone, and the thought of a mobile phone is a complete mystery. But I wouldn’t mind trying one. Blokes always like new gadgets.

Becoming an owl, though—that was really exciting. I thought of all the things I could do, all the places I could go. I mean, I know how to apparate, so technically I can go where I want. But in my current situation, that had become impossible. Becoming an owl brought with it the promise of freedom, at least physically. I could fly off to some remote area, become myself for a few precious moments, take in a little sunshine and feel the air on my skin again, before I would have to return to hiding.

So when Professor McGonagall presented me in her office with a list of rules and regulations, I was sorely disappointed.

 **Rule #1:** _You may only leave Hogwarts on official business. No side trips whatsoever._

 **Rule #2:** _When away from Hogwarts, you are forbidden to transform into yourself. Period._

Damn. I really need to work on Occlumency.

 **Rule #3:** _You may only transform into yourself in specifically designated areas, and only at certain times._

The list went on like this for eighteen inches of parchment. As an owl, I could only eat food that owls eat. I might have to sleep in the Owlery, which was always loud and rather smelly. In classrooms, I could only perch on windowsills, and I was not allowed to make any contact with any student.

McGonagall could see the intense pain on my face as I went down the list.

“I’m sorry about this, Smith,” she said sympathetically. “We ruled yesterday to reopen Hogwarts, and unless we can find you a better hiding place by September, this really is the best solution.”

“Why did you become an Animagus, Professor? Did you learn it at school?”

“I had heard about it at school, of course, but no, it was something I learned some time later. It was a part of my first profession, in fact.”

“What was that?”

She pondered a bit, trying to figure out how to put it into words. I wondered. “I worked for a part of the Ministry that dealt with…espionage.”

“You were a spy?” That was cool. McGonagall the spy? Incredible! No wonder she was so clever.

“It was a long time ago. I am still forbidden to discuss most of the details of my former post, though there is no danger in telling you just a little. I trust you will keep this to yourself?”

“Of course, Professor. Besides, who would I tell?”

“True. Being an Animagus became a very integral part of my work, and it allowed me to gain access to places that would otherwise be forbidden to me. A few people are in Azkaban because of the information I gained as a cat.”

“So you were the house cat of Death Eaters?”

She smiled a bit. “Something like that. You see, Darwin, when you transform into an animal, you do not lose your will or ability to think and remember.”

“I guess if I did, I wouldn’t be able to become myself again.”

“Quite right. When you transform, the only thing that changes is your physical form. You will in many ways be like an owl. You will eat owl food and likely want to go hunting at night. Those are natural traits of owls. But you do not lose your soul in the transformation, and you can control those urges, especially if you have a task to do or if you need some sleep.”

“Will I be a random school owl, or will I sort of belong to someone? Could I be yours?”

“I suppose that would be alright, Darwin.” Something suddenly dawned on her. “In fact, if you can transform well, I could put to great use. I know you wanted to be active in the fight against You-Know-Who, right?”

“Yeah. But you don’t want me to be his owl, do you?”

“Heavens no! However, you could help us to keep in touch with Severus and even with Mr. Potter.”

“What about Draco?”

She looked rather downcast at his name. “You may already know that he has disappeared entirely. No one on either side of this conflict has heard a word out of him for a very long time.”

“That’s what he wanted, to stay alive.”

“Then perhaps trying to find him would be a bad idea.” She saw my look of concern and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I know you’re worried about your brother, Darwin, but we have to trust that he is taking care of himself.”

I knew she was right, of course, but I wished she weren’t.

* * * * *

My first attempt to transform into an owl was excruciating. It also failed miserably. Here’s a big part of the problem. See, in spite of my very good Transfiguration O.W.L., I always struggled with the subject. A good part of that grade was due to sheer hard work. I enjoyed the subject, but I never got any Transfiguration exercise on the first try, unlike Hermione. I never got any Transfiguration exercise on the fifth try, in fact. To transfigure myself into an animal was particularly hard because it had to be done without a wand. After all, as an owl, I wouldn’t have the ability to hold a wand.

Even after two weeks of trying every day, I still wasn’t getting it quite right. One day, for example, I transformed into an owl, but a six-foot-three owl. And I needed help transforming back to myself. That was my closest attempt in those early days. Unfortunately, I could tell that McGonagall was starting to lose her patience. It was already getting toward late July, and I needed as much time as I could, not just to transform into a normal sized owl and back, but to do it effortlessly.

As hard as all this training was, it had a curious side effect to my other abilities. Snape had talked to me before about self-knowledge and how crucial that was if I were to become a truly great wizard. But how to do that was another question. I felt pretty familiar with all my strengths and my weaknesses, but I suspected that Snape meant something more than that. Knowing something and KNOWING something are entirely different from each other. I thought that perhaps my methods of acquiring knowledge were too limited, and I ultimately admitted to myself that my main impetus for learning anything was out of fear, pride or greed. It occurred to me that there was a world of realities that I had ignored up to this point, and I strived to tap into that knowledge and use it to grow.

One Friday night toward the end of July, Snape made another visit to Hogwarts for another series of secret meetings with McGonagall, to which I was not privy. I wished my Animagus skills were better—then, I’d fly to the windowsill in her office and eavesdrop. But unfortunately, while my last attempt to transform into a normal sized owl was quite successful, my transformation back left me with feathers all over my arms and talons on my feet. McGonagall had to give me a special potion to fix the problem. I had rather gotten used to that particular potion. Once Snape knew I would learn to become an Animagus, he was sure to brew a large cauldron of the stuff. Clever.

I had spent most of the day in the Aquarium, relaxing. All these lessons had occupied much of my time these last three weeks, so I hadn’t been down there in a while. I missed it. There’s a hypnotic quality to that room, where it’s so easy to lie back and watch the aquatic life swim along in gentle undulations. That particular day, I was deep in thought about so many things, seeking something deeper, more significant than what I already knew.

I suddenly felt sort of funny, sort of tingly through my hands and head and feet. I rested in that feeling, and consciously allowed it to grow within me. My heart swelled and burned, and soon, my whole body was charged with energy. I thought of the Animagus incantation, and with a little pop, I became an owl. I hopped about a little, rustling my feathers as I went, clicking my beak and feeling the strength of my dark brown wings.

I took flight, back through the corridor, up the stairway, up, up and out the first window I spotted. I soared upward, through the sky, feeling the warm summer wind hit my face, my chest, feeling that thrilling rush of freedom pulse through my entire body and soul. My black feathers whipped in the wind. If I could have, I would have laughed and sang and shouted. I went still higher, over the trees, my heart swelling further, burning brightly, joyously…and then I spotted it—McGonagall’s window. I headed toward it, excited beyond belief, feeling the air carry me along the way, as if I were a part of it. 

I landed soundlessly and looked down at McGonagall and Snape. It was probably stupid of me to intrude on them just then, but I allowed my excitement overtake me. Suddenly, Snape looked up and saw me. I clicked my beak jubilantly.

“My gods, Minerva!” he said, aghast. “Is that Smith?”

She whipped around to see me. It was hard to tell whether she was angry with me or just concerned. She waved at me to come in, looking ready to assist me in my transformation back.

But I knew that this time, I could do it myself. I gathered up all my energy, all the connection I had just felt soaring through the sky, and I alighted on the centre of the massive desk. And then, with full confidence, I thought the incantation and just like that, for the very first time, and right in front of McGonagall and Snape, I transformed fully back to myself—no feathers this time.

“You did it!” she exclaimed. She was in as much shock as I. “Well done, Darwin! You did it on your own!”

I jumped down to the floor and turned myself back and forth. “And look—no feathers! Feet normal—no talons!” I laughed.

“Oh! I’m so relieved!” she said. “This is wonderful, Darwin, just wonderful.”

I had no way of telling what Snape thought, but I had a feeling he was sort of impressed. After all, no matter who it is, watching an Animagus transform is a pretty cool thing to witness. Snape motioned for me to sit in the chair opposite him.

“Tell me, Smith,” he said rather inquisitively, “what do you think it was that allowed you to transform successfully this time? The Headmistress tells me you’ve had some difficulty…something about feathers?”

I blushed. Leave it to Snape to take the proverbial wind out of my sails. But I wasn’t going to let him rob me of this moment. Not this time. I had allowed myself to be deflated too many times by him, and he wasn’t going to do it any more. They both looked at me sharply, waiting for me to respond. I felt a lump in my throat rise, but I fought against it.

“I took the energy from my surroundings and used it to my advantage,” I replied, sounding more confident than I really was.

“And what prompted you to do this?” he asked.

“I reckoned that maybe I needed to sort of connect with…well, with everything…on a deeper level. And then I felt this incredible energy building up inside me, and I knew I could successfully make the transformation this time.”

Snape raised his eyebrows for a moment. “It’s high time you finally figured that out, Smith…on your own.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. I think he actually was sort of proud of me. I was proud of me, too.

In truth, it was a seminal moment for me. That first rush of energy was so profound, so amazing and wonderful and frightening that I used its memory to maintain the connection I had just established with everything around me. And as July turned into August, I continued to train as an Animagus, but I also decided to work on some of my other skills—I worked mainly on Charms and Transfiguration. It was amazing what a little connection and a lot of confidence did to improve my magical abilities. It was weird—I was no longer just the standard, run-of-the-mill sort of wizard I had allowed myself to be. Once I could continuously tap into that centre of energy within me, I found that I could do almost anything. Non-verbal magic, which before had been an extreme challenge to me, I could do almost effortlessly—with a bit of practice, of course. My Transfiguration skills quadrupled that summer, too.

I also learned conjuring spells, and with only a little help from McGonagall. And it wasn’t just water or fire steam I could conjure up, but large objects. I conjured up a new duvet for my bed, a new pair of trainers, a canoe, which I then vanished, and a chicken dinner, which tasted terrible. I’d have to work on that. I suddenly felt good about all this time alone at Hogwarts. In spite of the terrible loneliness I experienced, and as much as I missed Padma, Neville and my other friends, I felt for the first time that I really was a wizard.

* * * * *

September 1, 1997.

This was the big day, the return of the students to Hogwarts. Almost everyone was coming back, and to my relief, that included Padma and Parvati Patil. It had been three full months since I had seen Padma, and I wondered how she looked, if she missed me, if she still loved me or if she had found someone else. Hermione hadn’t told me much over the summer. The letter she received back from Parvati was about Seamus’ visit to India and how much she and Seamus were in love and wanted to get married but their father objected because Seamus wasn’t Indian but that Parvati and Seamus didn’t care and that they loved each other anyway and that if she loved him then her father should love him too. Padma, according to Parvati, went to a lot of parties over the summer, but didn’t seem to date anyone in particular. That was good.

I wondered, though, how much longer I would have to wait before I could come out of hiding and resume my relationship with her. I knew the rules McGonagall had set down, and I fully intended to follow them. All the same, it pained me to think that I’d be so close yet so far. I wished I could communicate with her somehow, tell her that I loved her and that I missed her terribly.

An hour before the students were to arrive, I met with McGonagall and Flitwick in her office. She had told my Head of House all about our arrangement, and he was ready to comply with the rules, too. The specifically designated areas in which I could transform into myself were: McGonagall’s office, Hagrid’s hut, room 204 of The Three Broomsticks, and Flitwick’s office. That was it. Otherwise, I had to remain as an owl. I knew what was at stake, and the commotion it could cause if I broke the rules, and so, very reluctantly, I complied.

But as I sat perched at the Staff table in the Great Hall, watching all the students come in and take their seats at the House tables for the Start of Term Feast, I caught sight of Padma. She looked stunning—she had changed a bit over the summer. She looked tanned, rested, peaceful. For a second, I thought I’d lose control and accidentally transform into myself. But I resisted. Instead, I decided to have a little fun. I took flight, hovering near the rafters, circling the students as they gathered, chatting and waving to each other and laughing. Someone from the Hufflepuff table caught sight of me and pointed.

“Look!” she said. “That black owl is SO beautiful!!!” 

That felt good. I circled lower, lower, finally landing on the Ravenclaw table, between Padma and Terry Boot. I hopped a little toward her and clicked my beak, purring affectionately. And to my complete excitement, she reached out and stroked my owl’s head and back, smiling at me. To be touched by her again, even if I was an owl, nearly took my breath away. I wanted to kiss her just then, but of course, that would have looked really strange.

“Aren’t you sweet,” she said, looking into my big brown eyes.

“I think he likes you, Padma,” Terry said. I flapped my wings for a quick moment, so that the bowl of crisps in the middle of the table went flying into Terry’s lap. Padma laughed.

“He’s jealous!” she said. Terry picked the crisps out of his hair. Then, he shooed me away.

I flew off, but relished that little slice of time. OK, so I was an owl, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. Padma still liked me, and that was all that mattered. I hovered again, noting who had returned and who had not. Most everyone was back—Neville and Hermione and Ron, of course, Michael, Justin, Hannah, even Susan Bones. Anthony was missing, and so was Goyle, though Crabbe, Pansy and Millicent had all returned.

Professor McGonagall spoke very eloquently to the students that evening, congratulating them all on their courage to return and their trust in the school. She assured them of their safety, and told them that extra measures had been taken to rid the school of any possible portals or points of entry that may have been otherwise unknown. The vanishing, cabinet, for example, had been dismantled, and a suspicious mirror found in one of the dungeons was broken up and vanished.

The Sorting this year was interesting. I don’t think anyone was quite sure how many First Years would be starting at Hogwarts this year. I remember seeing ads in _The Daily Prophet_ for a couple of homeschooling programs, covering all the normal subjects at Hogwarts. To my relief, the First Year class was just about the normal size, maybe just five or six short of usual. That made me happy for McGonagall. New Ravenclaws included Padma’s younger brother, Raj, and Michael’s littler sister, Rebecka. I was happy for them. Justin’s little brother started this year, too, as did Crabbe’s younger sister. She looked remarkably delicate and gentle—it was hard to believe that her older brother was that big oaf.

Other new announcements included one change in staff: Remus Lupin had returned to Hogwarts as Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. McGonagall also introduced us to three new students who had transferred from other schools: Vasily Sakalov, a transfer from Durmstrang, too my place in Ravenclaw, and Etienne Courbet took Anthony’s. McGonagall also introduced the Head Boy and Girl: Head Boy was Ernie MacMillan, from Hufflepuff, and Head Girl was Hermione. No one was shocked by that pronouncement, though Pansy Parkinson’s disapproval was heard throughout the Great Hall. Figures. After the feast was over, the students were dismissed to return to their houses.

I had to go to the Owlery.

I swear, it was the worst night I have ever spent in my whole life, and I’m not exaggerating. I’ve slept in alleyways, disused buildings, in tunnels and doorways in the worst parts of London, but nothing in the world is quite as horrible as sleeping with a bunch of screeching, stinking owls. I couldn’t get used to the perch at all. Standing on it whilst awake is one thing, but every time I tried to fall asleep, I kept losing my balance. One time I nearly fell off, and the screech I let out woke up the other owls, and then they wouldn’t shut up for the next twenty minutes! The owl next to me crapped the whole night, or so it smelled, and the other one was nipping on its own feathers in an attempt to kill a bug. I suddenly hated Vasily Sakalov, who was now sleeping comfortably in my bed in Ravenclaw, tucked under my sheets, surrounded by my friends.

“Can I sleep in your office?” I asked Professor McGonagall the next morning.

She poured me a cup of tea and had me sit down by her desk. “Rough night out there?”

“It was horrible!” I said. The tea tasted like heaven, and the scones she gave me…I really hate owl food. “I don’t think I slept ten minutes out there! You can put me in a cage if you want, but please let me stay here.”

She poured out a cup of tea for herself and sat at her desk, opposite me. “I don’t suppose it would be a bad idea. As long you don’t screech at two in the morning.”

“Just don’t put me on a perch, and I’ll be as quiet as you want me to be.”

“An owl has to sleep on a perch, Darwin,” she said. “That’s part of their nature. You need to get used to it.”

“It’s so confusing,” I said. “It’s like I feel this urge to do things owls do, but somewhere in there, my conscious mind takes over and makes me resist.” I set down my tea and finished the scone. “By the way, Professor, what’s my class schedule? I’m all ready to stalk the windowsills.”

She handed me a rolled up parchment. I unrolled it to see my schedule: Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Defence, Arithmancy, Herbology…and Divination?

“I’ve never taken Divination, Professor,” I said, rather confused. “Is this a mistake?”

“It’s quite deliberate,” she replied. “In your position right now, you could use some training in Divination. Professor Firenze will give you many wonderful insights. You may not learn to tell the future, but it will help you to discern and judge and watch carefully for subtle signs of change. We need that.”

That made sense. “Professor, where will I study? Where will I do classwork and my reading?”

“In here. I’ve spoken to Professor Lupin, and we’ve arranged for you to study in his office, too.”

“So he knows I’m an Animagus?”

“He knows. He will be a great resource to you, in fact. And as he’s in the Order, he may give you tasks to perform or messages to deliver from time to time.”

“When will all that start?” I asked, more than a bit nervous about the mission.

“Any time. Whenever there’s a development and we need a messenger, off you’ll go.”

“Professor, do you think I’ll be able to sit my exams in June?” I asked.

I didn’t like the scowl on McGonagall’s face when I asked that question. I looked into her eyes and tried to discern what she was thinking, but I got nothing. Either I was a lousy Legilimens or she was a good Occlumens. “That, Darwin, is hard to say,” she finally replied. “You are a wanted man by more than one faction.”

“What would happen to me if I turned myself in to the Ministry?” I wondered. “Would they assume I was guilty of something and put me in Azkaban?”

“That is not the danger,” she replied. “The danger is that such a move will reveal your whereabouts to You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. They have their agents in the Ministry, you know, and it only takes one stunning spell for them to kidnap you. You know far too much for us to let that happen, so we need to keep your whereabouts a secret even from the Ministry.”

So that was that. I really was stuck, even as an owl.


	17. Phantom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Between myself, McGonagall, Flitwick and Lupin, we managed to create a rather complex but workable study schedule for me so that I could keep up with my classmates pretty well. I didn’t have access to Potions ingredients or to a cauldron, so I didn’t get to practice brewing anything. That concerned me, especially if I expected to sit my exams in June. Of course, there was no guarantee that I would. Just in case, though…_

Over the next two months, I gradually adjusted to my life as an owl. After two weeks, I got the perch thing down pat, and in fact, I finally found a comfortable way of sleeping on it without tipping over. Happily, McGonagall had conjured up a lovely, large cage for me, and she even covered it with beautiful blue velvet so I could have some privacy at night as I slept. I appreciated the gesture. She was not without a sense of humour—she would paper the bottom the cage with _Daily Prophet_ articles about You-Know-Who. It was an honour to do my owl business on it, let me tell you!

She named me Phantom, which I thought was pretty cool.

Between myself, McGonagall, Flitwick and Lupin, we managed to create a rather complex but workable study schedule for me so that I could keep up with my classmates pretty well. I didn’t have access to Potions ingredients or to a cauldron, so I didn’t get to practice brewing anything. That concerned me, especially if I expected to sit my exams in June. Of course, there was no guarantee that I would. Just in case, though… All the reading I had done over the summer actually helped my in my spellwork in all my subjects. The book on plants I had read at the Malfoys helped me in Herbology, and all the books on my mother helped me in Defence and in Charms. And of course, just learning to become an Animagus really helped me in Transfiguration.

Lupin and I got along really well during those times. He had designated certain times when other students could come to his office for help on Defence—but after those hours were finished, and if he wasn’t giving some Slytherin detention, he and I would sit and drink mead and talk. I hadn’t gotten to know Lupin much when he was last at Hogwarts. All I really remembered was that we all found out he was a werewolf, but that he was a very good, very kind teacher. The day we studied boggarts he had us all line up and imagine our worst fears. Mine, at the time, was my last foster “father.” I used to have terrible nightmares about the awful stuff he used to do to me. A few days after that lesson, Lupin did something very nice for me—he said his office door was always open, if I ever needed to talk. I never actually took him up on his offer, but I remembered it all the same.

He hadn’t changed over the years, thank goodness.

He knew what it was like to become something else, to live as a non-human, even though in his case he had no choice. He knew how it felt to be cast out and feared, too, and he knew what it was to be abused and degraded. It wasn’t that I had all these tearful conversations with him or bared my soul to him. I had already had that conversation with Snape years ago. I wish I’d had that talk with Lupin instead, though I admit that Snape really did help me get over a lot of my childhood pain. It was strange, the two of them. I think they both had a lot more in common than either of them was willing to admit. Maybe it was why I felt drawn to both of them, in spite of myself. It was fine with Lupin because I really liked him. But Snape was the one who really understood me.

I wondered where he was sometimes, but I didn’t dwell on it. I had other, more prescient issues at hand.

Like the fact that Padma was spending a lot of time with Terry Boot these days. Like the fact that they had started holding hands between lessons since the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. Like the fact that they would routinely stay up late into the night in the Ravenclaw common room, not studying all that much. They were getting much too close for comfort—for my comfort, anyway.

And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it, either.

But I had my ways. After all, I was an owl, and owls are notoriously…messy. You know how birds are. They get you when you least expect it, and always when you’re wearing something nice.

I got Terry on the shoulder in my first attempt, though I was aiming for his head. It was a lovely white mess dripping down the arm of his robes—I must say I was really proud of myself for that little gift. But it backfired on me when Padma took out her wand and said, “Evanseco!” Bugger. My second attempt was more successful—right on the top of his head, as all the other owls were delivering the morning post. I did it then so no one would suspect me. This time, Terry was forced to return to Ravenclaw to wash it out of his hair.

I managed to bite him once, too, on the hand. He was at the owlery to deliver a note to his mum, so I swooped down and got him, right between the thumb and forefinger. I actually drew blood. Unfortunately, the next time I saw him, he used his uninjured hand to hold Padma’s hand. I had to be careful, though. If I attacked Terry too much, it might be obvious to someone observant, such as Hermione Granger, that I was jealous, and then she might figure out who I was and then my cover as an Animagus would be blown. As hard as it was, I was careful. I really wanted to whack him with my wings and peck out his treacherous eyes, but I restrained myself. It disturbed me a little that my mother’s violent nature had stalked even my owl identity. It wasn’t fair.

I think Professor McGonagall saw my frustration, because one day, she summoned me to her office and asked me to remain as an owl. I obeyed.

“I have a message for you to deliver to Miss Granger, Phantom,” she said, scribbling out a note on a small parchment. She rolled it up tightly and tied it around my outstretched leg.

I spread my wings and took off, up, up and out the window, and into the fresh, chilly October air. I circled one glorious time around the perimeter of the castle, feeling the thrilling rush of air tearing through my feathers as I went. Finally, I spotted the Gryffindor common room window and glided in, landing first on the windowsill. The room was filled with Gryffindors, including Ginny, Parvati Patil, Neville, Cormac McLaggen, Ron…there she was, over by the fireplace, helping a Fourth Year with her Charms homework. Padma used to help me with Charms homework.

I landed on the table in front of her and stuck out my leg.

“Looks like it’s for you,” the Fourth Year said, giggling. She petted my feathers, which felt nice, and she fed me a crisp. I’ll take crisps over owl treats any day of the week. “He’s so pretty, isn’t he?” she cooed, still petting me. I cooed right back at her.

Hermione took the note and read it.

“Sorry, Callie, but it looks like I’ve got to go to McGonagall’s office straight away,” she said. “We’ll have to finish this later.”

“That’s OK, Hermione,” Callie said. “I think I understand it now. Thanks.”

Hermione stopped to talk to Ron before she left, but I didn’t stick around to listen in. Instead, I swooped over and landed in front of Neville for a moment. He gave me a tentative pat on the head, which I enjoyed, and then I took off and out the window again, soaring over the tops of the towers before I returned to McGonagall’s office. The moon was half full, and the sky was dusted with stars that night. I climbed through the air as high as I dared, and then I returned to the castle just as McGonagall was saying “Enter!” Hermione entered.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?” she said.

“Yes yes, Miss Granger,” McGonagall replied, waving her inside. “Now stand just there if you please,” she said, looking up to see me in the windowsill. “Phantom! Come down here, please!”

I swooped down and landed on the edge of the desk. She pointed for me to stand on the floor, which I did. What was she up to?

“Alright, now, Phantom, I want you to reveal yourself to Miss Granger.”

What? What about my cover? My privacy? My secret identity? I hesitated, not wanting to obey this command.

“Phantom,” McGonagall repeated. “Reveal yourself to Miss Granger. Now.”

“What is it, Professor?” Hermione said. “What do you mean?”

McGonagall gave me one of her stern looks that always filled me with dread, so reluctantly, I obeyed.

Just like that, within my little owl’s body, I stretched up and out, fanning my arms overhead and pulling myself up by the knees until I stood at my normal, six-foot three height. Hermione could only stare in wonder and a little horror as I made the dramatic transformation, her hands clapped over her gaping mouth.

“Oh my gods!” she gasped. “Darwin!” And then she threw her arms around my neck and sobbed. “I was so worried about you and I wondered where you had gone when I didn’t see you here at all and no one said a word about you and the paper! Oh! That damned _Daily Prophet_! They’ve said the most horrid things about you! I’m so glad you’re safe!” She stepped back to look me over. Her eyes were wet with tears.

“I’m fine, Hermione,” I said. “I’ve been here this whole time.”

“Are you OK?” she blubbered. “Are you safe? I thought you were dead! I thought you had left Hogwarts or run away and that the Death Eaters had gotten you when I didn’t hear a word about you and no one told me a thing!” She wept again and buried her face in my robes. I held her close for a moment.

“Mr. Smith,” McGonagall said, “you must be wondering why I am revealing your identity to Miss Granger.”

“It had occurred to me,” I replied, mystified.

“I realised that it was unfair to deprive you of contact with at least one person your own age,” she said. “It didn’t seem right that you should have to watch all your friends interact and then deny you even a little of the same. Miss Granger,” she said to Hermione, “this is absolutely confidential. You may not even tell Mr. Weasley about this. Is that perfectly clear?”

“Absolutely, Professor,” she said, drying her eyes.

“Thank you, Professor,” I said. “I needed this. A lot.”

McGonagall gathered up a couple of books and some parchment. “Well, then, I’ll let you two alone to talk. Any interaction you two have must be in the confines of this office, Professor Lupin’s office or in room 204 of the Three Broomsticks. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” we echoed.

After she left, Hermione and I sat down on the little settee under the window. Hermione burst out laughing.

“What?” I said.

“I was thinking about Terry Boot!” she cackled. “You got him good!”

Now I was laughing.

“Is he…I mean are he and Padma…involved?” I didn’t want to hear the answer, but I needed to ask the question anyway.

Hermione didn’t have to reply. I knew what the answer was. “I don’t think it’s serious, Darwin,” she said, trying to play it down.

“You can tell me the truth, you know. I can take it.” That was a lie.

“It’s too early to tell at this point. It’s mostly hand-holding and…”

“Kissing? Are they kissing?” I asked jealously.

“Well, maybe just a little.”

“Tongues? What about…”

“Come on, Darwin!” Hermione exclaimed. “It’s not like I’m stalking them or anything!”

“I’m sorry, Hermione.” Now I was depressed all over again. I distracted myself by telling Hermione all about being an Animagus, how it felt to be an owl, what it felt like to fly without a broom.

“I’ve never liked flying,” she said. “If I were ever an Animagus, I think I’d be a cat, like Professor McGonagall.”

“Flying is the best feeling there is. I was never much good on brooms, but as an owl, you don’t really worry about that. It just comes naturally.”

“But you have to eat owl treats, right?”

I grumbled at that. “Well, there’s a downside to everything, I guess.”

“Is it lonely?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve been this isolated since I was living on the street. It’s like looking through a shop window and not being allowed inside.”

She scowled. “It was nice of Professor McGonagall to arrange this, then. You and me, I mean.” Her cheeks turned slightly pink.

“It was. I think we were all so focused on my safety that we all forgot about my…my health.” OK, this was getting way too heavy. I changed the subject. “So how are you and Ron doing these days?” I asked as brightly as I could muster.

“Oh, we’re OK,” she replied. “Not much as changed since the summer. I went on holiday with my parents to Canada.”

“I know. I heard you talking about it at the feast.”

She laughed. “Ron’s on a rampage right now against Ernie MacMillan.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t think MacMillan deserves to be Head Boy.”

I chuckled at that. “I suppose he thinks he deserves it.”

Hermione nodded and rolled her eyes. “He’s gotten a bit distant these days. I don’t know. I don’t get him sometimes. I know he’s got a bit of a complex, but I thought he’d be mature enough to handle it when I became Head Girl. But I guess not.”

“He’ll get over it, won’t he?” I asked. Ron could be such a pain sometimes. I didn’t know how a girl like Hermione could put up with him. Is that mean? “He’s still Keeper for the Quidditch team, right?”

“Yeah. But Ginny is Captain.”

“Ouch.”

“Exactly,” Hermione grumbled.

“Why don’t you buy him a little present, just to cheer him up? Send me off to fetch it for you. I could use a long flight.”

She smiled. “That’s sweet,” she said. “I’ll think on it, try to find something nice.”

“Just not too heavy, alright? I’m new at all this.”

A couple of days later, as I sat on my perch at the Staff table one morning during breakfast, Hermione waved me over. She held in her hand a little money bag. I stuck out my leg for her to tie on the message and the cash. She stroked my feathers and fed me some toast from her hand. I took the toast, making sure not to nip her accidentally. Ron watched with curiosity.

“I’ve never seen an owl as tame as that one,” he said, his mouth full of kipper.

“Professor McGonagall has him well trained,” Hermione replied.

“I bet!” Ron retorted. “She probably scares the shite out of him! That’s why he keeps bombing Terry Boot! He got his chair just the other day, and then Terry sat down, right on it! Beautiful!” he hooted.

I wanted to laugh, too, but all I could manage was to click my beak.

“Hey!” Neville exclaimed. “I think he understood you, Ron!”

Ron pointed his fork at me. “I think these owls know a lot more than we give them credit for,” he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Go on, Phantom! Off with you! Hurry back!”

And off I went. I wondered briefly if Ron may have been on to me in some way. But no, I reasoned. I was no genius, but I wasn’t as thick as Ron could sometimes be. How Hermione could be mixed up with him occupied my mind as I made my way too London to fill the order she had given me.

I have a confession. I know I wasn’t supposed to do this, but I couldn’t help it. After flying for a couple of hours, my wings got really tired. I wasn’t used to making such a long trip like this. I would have to build up my strength, even as an owl. So I did something bad. I found a place to land, checking very carefully to be sure I was entirely alone. And then I did it. I took Hermione’s package off my leg using my beak, and then I transformed into myself. In a flash, I apparated to a dark, very isolated alleyway I used to know in London. I was sure no one saw me. And then, just as fast, I placed the little bag on the ground and transformed back into an owl. Then, I picked up the bag, held it in my beak and took off for the shop at Diagon Alley.

The shop, funnily enough, was owned by Ron’s twin brothers, Fred and George. They were two of the cleverest blokes I had ever known in my life. They were really wild and adventurous, but always kind to me. I didn’t know them extremely well, but my memories of the Weasley twins are vivid, and always good. After one of my many fistfights with Draco, for example, they shook my hand and gave me warm congratulations for a job well done. I wished I could reveal myself to them because I knew they would keep my secret, but if I did, I might also expose them to danger. So I remained an owl.

I flew in the open door and landed on the counter, where I opened my beak and let the moneybag drop with a clank. One of the brothers—I could never tell them apart—came by to fill the order.

“Hey there!” he said to me, petting my head and my owl ears. He was a little rough, but I didn’t mind too much. “What’s this here?” He picked up the bag and took out Hermione’s order, grinning as he read it. “Oi! Fred!” he called.

Fred stuck his head out. I saw that his face was covered with a strange-smelling white powder. It looked like an experiment had gone terribly wrong.

“Looks like Hermione’s got herself a new owl,” George said.

“Wow,” Fred said, coming over to check me out. He felt my wings and looked directly into my eyes. “He’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a black owl before. His eyes are so intense, like he knows something.”

George busied himself filling Hermione’s order and tying it up in a small package. At least it was small. That was good. But Fred couldn’t take his eyes off me, which worried me. I hope he didn’t recognise me at all.

“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, George?” Fred mused.

“What?”

“These owls. I mean, they’re charmed creatures and all, but don’t you wonder if some of them are more than just charmed?”

George tied the package to my leg. “You mean, are some owls not really owls?”

“Yeah. I mean, look at this one. There’s just something about him. He’s not like Errol.”

George smirked. “Yeah, but Errol was senile! Dad overused him. He used to think the potting shed was the kitchen!”

I don’t know if they continued the debate, because just then, George sent me flying again, out of the store. On the way back to Hogwarts, I behaved myself this time, scared into submission out of guilt and panic. The question dogged me the entire way back—could an average wizard tell the difference between a real owl and an Animagus?

I delivered the package to a grateful Hermione, but I didn’t stay around for a reward. My mind was too preoccupied, and the one person I really needed to see was Professor McGonagall.

But she was in a meeting with the staff, so I returned to her office and rested in my cage. I was completely exhausted after that long flight. My wings were tired and sore and enervated. All I wanted to do any more was sleep. The moment I shut my eyes, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep…

* * * * *

“Phantom?”

Mmm… I clicked my beak and went back to sleep.

“Phantom?”

Suddenly, torchlight assaulted my tired eyes. I squinted and reluctantly woke up. A bleary Professor McGonagall stood before my cage, and the next thing I knew, she reached in and took me out bodily, placing me on her desk.

“Don’t transform,” she whispered. There was an urgency in her voice which told me that something terrible had occurred. Unable to ask what was going on, I stared her in the eye and waited for her to speak again. 

She sat at her desk, in her dressing gown, writing and writing on a rather long piece of parchment. I tried to look at what she was doing, but she shielded it from me. Finally, at long last, she finished writing. She rolled up the parchment tightly and motioned for me to stick out my leg.

“Listen carefully to me, Phantom,” she said in a light whisper. “Something has just happened, and you must get this message to Severus tonight.”

Damn. I shouldn’t have gone on that long flight to London. I was still tired and sore.

“Severus will give you further instructions. You must remember not to transform, no matter what. Even if Severus is hurt, you must not transform. You are flying into extreme danger right now, into the heart of You-Know-Who’s lair. You must use all your powers of Occlumency, even as an owl. Is that clear?”

I nodded my owl head, though my heart pounded. 

“The least suggestion to You-Know-Who that you are an Animagus could destroy everything. Is that clear?”

I nodded again. I worried. 

Too many questions now raced through my mind. Why should Snape be hurt? I thought he was You-Know-Who’s favourite. I wondered if Snape’s cover had been exposed somehow and if he were in danger. Maybe he really was hurt. What would I do? What could I do? I had no idea. As I flew to the designated place, another thought occurred to me. What if it wasn’t Snape who was hurt at all? What if it were Harry or Draco or both? What if they were captured by Death Eaters? What if they were…dead?


	18. Into the Lair of the Dark Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The house was almost regal, pristine and elegant. It wasn’t ostentatious and luxurious like Malfoy Manor—this place was far simpler and yet, it held a grand power of its own. The place was white and stark, surrounded by a thick grove and a small pond that now glittered in the moonlight as I soared overhead. The odd sight of a muggle automobile struck me as strange, especially in a crowd that eschewed anything remotely muggle. I didn’t know to whom it belonged. Looking through the windows, I could see that the house was almost entirely dark inside, except for one grand chamber on the ground floor, which was lit by flickering torches, giving the place an eerie aspect. I shivered as I wondered exactly where Snape could be within these walls._

I flew as hard and fast as I could, over trees, over the hills, past ponds and rivers and lakes. The air was ice cold as I went, and the rushing air made my eyes water. By the time I reached my destination, my arms were in terrible agony, and I could barely breathe from exhaustion. But I had a mission to accomplish, one I hoped wouldn’t be as dangerous as I feared. As I perched in a blackened oak tree near the house, I took a moment to catch my breath and to calm down my mind. I drew in all the energy around me, let it move and vibrate and warm my troubled heart. Shutting my eyes, I cleared everything from my mind, and then, I took off for the house itself, hoping to find Snape healthy and whole.

The house was almost regal, pristine and elegant. It wasn’t ostentatious and luxurious like Malfoy Manor—this place was far simpler and yet, it held a grand power of its own. The place was white and stark, surrounded by a thick grove and a small pond that now glittered in the moonlight as I soared overhead. The odd sight of a muggle automobile struck me as strange, especially in a crowd that eschewed anything remotely muggle. I didn’t know to whom it belonged. Looking through the windows, I could see that the house was almost entirely dark inside, except for one grand chamber on the ground floor, which was lit by flickering torches, giving the place an eerie aspect. I shivered as I wondered exactly where Snape could be within these walls.

I didn’t find him right away. I peered into every window in the building, perched as low as I could manage, but no Snape. Not yet anyway.

What I did find, however, was extremely troubling, and I suddenly understood why Professor McGonagall was so urgent with me. A full scale meeting with dozens of Death Eaters was underway in the torchlit room. It was almost like a convention or something. They all sat there in long antiphonal rows, each side looking at the other. They all wore thick, black robes lined in bronze silk, which shimmered in the torchlight. Their faces were long, grey, grim, thoroughly menacing and dangerous—in spite of the light that bathed the room, I could sense no warmth in that dismal assembly. I gulped at the sight of my father there, looking a bit haggard yet remarkably forceful for someone who had just gotten out of that awful prison. His pale blue eyes—Draco’s eyes…my eyes, too—were vital and intense. I hadn’t seen my father since I was eleven years old, not up close anyway. I remember that he visited Draco from time to time, especially to watch the Quidditch matches or to complain to Dumbledore about something trivial. Those images I had seen of him in all his photographs still dominated my recent memory of him, where he had been relaxed and carefree. Seeing him like this, enshrouded by a spiritual darkness that I could only sense invisibly, made my heart bleed for him bitterly.

I shouldn’t have felt that way, I suppose. Lucius Malfoy was vicious, venal, brutal and selfish. But he was my father, too. It wasn’t so much that I felt sorry for him or anything. That wasn’t it. I just felt—sad, that this handsome and intelligent man threw his entire life away for the sake of someone who would never love him. If that isn’t tragic, then I don’t know what is.

Yet there he was, among his fellow travelers of sorts, conniving and plotting and making way for a full-scale battle. I looked among the other Death Eaters but didn’t recognise many of them. I saw Goyle’s father there—the only reason I recognised him was because his son looked exactly like him—big and churlish and thick-headed. I wondered what value someone like Goyle held for You-Know-Who. You couldn’t really rely on someone like him, not in a pure sense. Whatever.

Up front, reclining on a sort of throne—well, it was really just a big oak chair—sat You-Know-Who. The sight gave me chills. I had never seen him before, only heard about him. I’ve been around some pretty terrible people in my life, but the hellish stench of evil that emanated from that man was almost overwhelming. It wasn’t a physical stench or anything. It’s hard to explain. There was a thickness there, a heavy clouding of demonic force in that room that threatened to knock me off my perch, all originating from You-Know-Who. He was the strangest-looking man I had ever seen. His eyes were red—I’m not kidding! I half expected laser beams to shoot out of his eyes, like in some muggle science fiction film. There was a snakelike quality to his face which should have looked comical but in truth looked horrifying. I wondered what had happened to him to have made his face transform like that. It wasn’t like he was an Animagus who had transformed into a snake—this was permanent damage, as if the destruction to his soul reached outward and sought to destroy his face and body, too.

On his left sat a woman with black hair and a face that had once been very beautiful. I recognised her from the newspaper—Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco’s aunt, the witch who had escaped from Azkaban and who had killed Sirius Black over a year ago. Neville told me about her. She reminded me a little of my mother, with a smug look twisting her features. But I suspected that she was no match for the Duchess. At You-Know-Who’s feet sat a mousy little man with a silver hand, looking very much like a pathetic court jester. No one seemed to deem him worthy of giving him a chair, yet if he was at the feet of You-Know-Who, I reasoned he must play a crucial role in the organization. I seriously suspected that he was far more than a mere court jester.

On his right was Severus Snape, looking as inscrutable as ever. As I watched and listened to the proceedings, I noticed that Snape said very little. He nodded a lot in agreement, usually with You-Know-Who, and occasionally told the court jester, Pettigrew, to shut up. I noticed, too, that his eyes went everywhere and yet, a casual observer would have missed it. Snape let his long, black hair hang down partly over his face so that people on his right and on his left couldn’t see what he was doing, just like students do in class when they’re trying to cheat on an exam. It was as if he were looking for clues, for slight movements in body language, interpreting the very air around him.

That was when he saw me, perched up there in the window. I didn’t move an inch, and to my amazement, neither did he. Anyone looking at him would think him merely surveying the scene indifferently, bored with the long proceedings. But I knew differently. At the same time, I had to be just as careful because I could see that You-Know-Who was doing the exact same thing as Snape, sweeping the scene with his eyes, judging, measuring, interpreting every slightest movement. I don’t think he noticed me, however. My black feathers blended in with the black sky and the dark tree directly behind me. I used Occlumency as forcefully as I could, keeping my mind as blank as a sheet.

Soundlessly, I inched back until it was safe for me to turn around, and then I flew over to the nearest branch of the tree, still within earshot of the proceedings inside. Curiously enough, they were talking about an impending revolution, led by a coven of witches who had made a powerful magical bond with each other. No names were mentioned, but I knew who comprised this coven: Narcissa, Francesca of course—and there must have been others. Rumour had it they located the Duke—that’s me—and that they were grooming him—uh, me—to lead the charge to topple You-Know-Who and take total control of the wizarding world. Rumour had it they had unlimited financial resources—that is, my fortune—at their fingertips to finance their revolution. That was a laugh. Only I had the key, and I hadn’t given it to anyone, nor would I. And, you can’t copy Gringott’s keys at all. Only the original key works in any vault.

I suddenly saw what Snape was doing by keeping silent. Naturally, he couldn’t tell them that he had taken me personally from Malfoy Manor and he couldn’t tell them that I was safely ensconced at Hogwarts. And he certainly couldn’t tell them that I was right outside, listening to their every word, and that I would likely report every single word to Professor McGonagall and the Order. Snape just sat there, avoiding eye contact with anyone, allowing them to hatch their plots against the coven, keeping my whereabouts and my identity very safe. That was heroic.

Two long, boring hours later, the meeting adjourned and most of the assembly left. Those who lodged at the house, I presume, went off to bed. Snape, however, did not retire. I perched myself at the window again and saw him in deep conversation with You-Know-Who and with Bellatrix Lestrange and my father. Bellatrix looked angry but Lucius seemed composed. I couldn’t tell about Snape, as usual.

“…and therefore we shall trust you, dear Lucius,” You-Know-Who said, “to take charge of this situation.”

“And if my son is involved?” he asked.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Which one?” he asked tartly.

Lucius threw him an indignant glare.

“If your son gets in the way, that is his own fault,” You-Know-Who said indifferently. “He made his choice to break the Legacy Bond and now he must face the consequences if he tries to interfere.”

Bellatrix gave Lucius a pompous stare. “You know it has to be this way,” she sneered. “How could you expect otherwise, considering how he has behaved as of late? You raised him to be weak! A coward!”

Furiously, Lucius drew his wand, but You-Know-Who stopped him. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. A family squabble being refereed by You-Know-Who! No one would believe this story. 

“We will not actively hunt him down, Lucius,” he said. I could tell my father didn’t believe him for a second. Neither did I, for that matter.

“You know you won’t have to!” Lucius replied, momentarily forgetting to be acquiescent. “You know he will go to his mother if she is in danger.”

“It is perhaps lamentable that your wife is involved in this scheme, Lucius, but that is something you must set aside,” Bellatrix said.

“She is your sister!” Lucius shot back.

“Not any more,” Bellatrix replied. “I do not regard Narcissa as anything other than a traitor now.”

Finally, Snape spoke up. “I believe the point is, Lucius, that you are in need of returning to the Dark Lord’s good graces. Leading the attack on the coven will prove your loyalty. We must all make our choices about where our loyalties lie—now, it’s your turn.”

“You’re asking me to kill my wife and possibly my son! Possibly both my sons!” Lucius said furiously, trying very hard not to sound like he was going to cry.

You-Know-Who sat back casually in his chair and crossed his legs nonchalantly. “If you don’t have the will to do this action, then you don’t belong in my company. You don’t deserve to live.”

Lucius blanched. He nodded reluctantly and then knelt before You-Know-Who. “My soul is yours, my lord,” he said subserviently. I noticed a flicker of disappointment in Snape’s eyes just then, which he quickly masked. I was disappointed, too. This was my father’s moment to make a brave choice and favour family love over power—but he chose power. This could only spell disaster for Draco, if he did interfere. Somehow, I felt that he would.

Feeling low and desolate, I flew back to the tree, wondering how much longer it would be before Snape was alone and I could deliver McGonagall’s message. I wanted so much to transform so I could ask the thousand questions that blasted through my mind. But I fought the urge.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Ten minutes later, the back door to the house opened, and out walked Snape, presumably taking a nighttime stroll before he retired to bed. I followed him with my eyes, hopping onto another branch, a little lower down. He walked along a narrow, winding path toward a little pond on the property. I followed him, flying from tree to tree—he walked fast, so keeping up with him took some effort.

Finally, at the pond’s edge, he looked up and whispered, “Phantom!”

I swooped down and landed on his outstretched arm. He quickly removed the note from my leg and read it over. He turned a troubled face to me and indicated with his eyes that he wanted me to perch in a tree in the thick grove beyond. I obeyed. He stretched his arms and legs as if he were doing night exercises, and then casually moved into the grove, after me.

He walked a bit more, until finally he rested on a tree stump deep in the woods. I could hear crickets and frogs chirping like mad, sounding almost like a symphony. I remained in the tree branch just over his head. He turned to face me.

“Muffliato,” he whispered. “You heard everything didn’t you?” he said to me.

I nodded.

“You shouldn’t have. Were you using Occlumency?”

I nodded again.

He pulled out something strange, something I had only seen muggles use—a fountain pen. He turned the parchment over and scribbled out a note, then rolled it up and tied it to my leg.

“You are to take this directly to Professor McGonagall,” he whispered. “The rest of the Order are assembled in her office as we speak. You are to tell her every single word you heard tonight, including the private meeting you also unfortunately witnessed. Have you ever apparated as an owl?”

I shook my head no.

“Time is of the essence now,” he said, his voice urgent. “There is no time for you to fly back. Phantom, you must do this. You know you can if you focus your energies. You will apparate to Hogsmeade and then fly as fast as you can back to Hogwarts. Is that clear?”

I couldn’t believe what he was asking me to do. It wasn’t that I couldn’t apparate, because I could and quite well. But this was entirely new. I didn’t want to get splinched, especially not as an owl. I needed all the confidence I could muster up. Lives depended on this, I was sure. I nodded my head and shut my eyes. I pictured room 204 of the Three Broomsticks. I saw the bed, the desk and chair, the wood floor, the mirror…destination, determination, deliberation…

* * * * *

_Pop!_

I opened my eyes to see where I was, if I had managed to get anywhere at all. Desk, bed, chair…I did it! I apparated as an owl! At least I thought I did. I looked down, hoping to see black feathers and talons. There they were—feathers, talons. No splinching! I rotated my head all the way around my neck. That’s one of the coolest things to do as an owl. I was still an owl. But this was no time for gloating over my own success. Lives at stake, McGonagall waiting, Order assembled, so off I flew, out the window and back to Hogwarts.

They were all there, just Snape said. McGonagall, Lupin, Shaklebolt, Molly and Arthur, Tonks, Moody and Hermione. I swooped in the window and landed on McGonagall’s desk. She quickly untied the note and read the contents. I pecked at a grape on the desk. Hermione gave me a bit of scone, which tasted so good after a long flight. I was dying to transform, but I didn’t dare. Only McGonagall and Hermione knew I was an Animagus.

“Well done, Phantom,” McGonagall said approvingly. “Did you witness the summit proceedings?”

I nodded.

“And you heard every word?” she asked.

I nodded again.

“Alright, Phantom, it’s time for you to reveal yourself. We need to hear from you exactly what went on.”

I doubted her wisdom, but I knew I had to do it. I was the only one who could give them the information, and this was no time for waiting. And so, I stretched myself up and out and transformed into myself. Everyone gasped. Tonks laughed.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” she crowed. “In a bird cage!”

“How did you get back so quickly?” McGonagall asked.

“I…well, I sort of…apparated,” I said guiltily.

“You did WHAT?” she demanded.

“I did it as an owl, Professor! I swear! Snape said I should, that there was no time for me to fly back!”

Lupin looked at me appreciatively. He chuckled. “You really have come a long way, Darwin,” he said. “Apparating as an Animagus—that’s some very advanced magic!”

“Let’s get on with it,” Moody grumbled. “What did you hear, boy?”

I told them the entire story, from who I saw to the specific plans they hatched, every single detail of what they had plotted. I also told them about the imminent attack on the coven, and that Lucius Malfoy was set to kill his own wife.

“My gods!” Molly cried, aghast. “How horrible!”

“And he’s going to do it?” Shaklebolt asked.

“Yes. I thought he might refuse, but in the end, he agreed to go through with it.”

“Damn Malfoys,” Moody growled.

I resisted the urge to throw a punch right in his grizzled, ugly face. Unfortunately, I failed to use Occlumency at that moment, and just then, Moody gave me such a furious look that I thought he might punch me first.

“What does all this mean?” I asked. I could see Draco’s dead body. I felt sick.

“We may need to let this one play itself out,” Lupin said.

“Don’t you think this might be the best time for Potter to do his duty?” Moody said.

“Absolutely not,” Shaklebolt said. “This is between You-Know-Who and his own followers. It would be far too dangerous to place Harry in the middle of this. I’m sorry, Darwin, but there’s nothing we can do.”

“He’s quite right,” Arthur said. “The best we can hope for is that this civil war of sorts will kill off a fair amount of Death Eaters.”

I wanted to cry. I knew what Draco would do. He’d hear about this somehow and run off to defend his mother—I knew the lengths he would go to in order to defend her, and this was just such a situation. Moody anticipated my next question before I had even asked it. I really need to use Occlumency all the time. Snape’s got a good point about that.

“Don’t you go anywhere near your brother, boy,” Moody snapped at me.

Lupin looked at me sympathetically. “Alestor is right, Darwin. We have to stay far away from this conflict. You know that there’s nothing you can do to keep Draco from it, don’t you?”

I knew.

* * * * *

I couldn’t sleep at all that night. McGonagall allowed me to sleep in a guest room in the castle so I could sleep in a warm bed and recover from the events of the night. Every time I shut my eyes, all I could see was Draco, dead by his father’s hand, now cradled in his howling father’s arms. It felt so real, so vivid. I knew it wasn’t true—it was too soon. The meeting with You-Know-Who had just ended. This sort of an assault would take time to orchestrate, even after all the planning. All I could think of was how to get to my brother, how to keep him away from Malfoy Manor, just to keep him alive.

I knew my father didn’t really want to kill his own wife and son. All those pictures he kept in his desk at home told me so. He was too happy in marriage, too proud as a parent, too enamoured of his lifestyle as lord of the manor. As cruel and vicious as he was, I wanted to believe that he wouldn’t just throw that all away, no matter what he told You-Know-Who. I admit this was an extremely idealistic, totally unrealistic pipe dream, but it was all I had.

After all, this was my family.

I’m sure the Duchess would have been scandalised to think that her precious Duke had anything other than murder and power in his mind. It sort of felt good to know that I would have been a great disappointment to my mother. Most people would never dream of such a thing, but my situation was unique. But what now assaulted my thoughts and dreams was exactly what to do about it. Draco had gone out of his way to get me away from danger before, so now it was my turn.

The main problem I had was the fact that I had no idea where Draco was. It occurred to me that I could return to Malfoy Manor and lie in wait for him. But I wanted to get to him before then. Chances were that he would get killed before he even entered the house. After all, he was on the run from You-Know-Who for a lot of reasons, and I was sure that any Death Eater would have felt it a privilege to Avada Kedavra his arse.

If I got to him first, I could try to keep him from going home. That would be pretty hard. He would fight me, harder than he had ever fought me in his life. I wondered if he might even kill me. I went over in my mind the ways I could possibly subdue him before he had a chance to strike me down. I could do a freezing charm on him. Yes, that would be good. I should probably be ready to use a shield charm on myself, just in case.

But then what? Where do we go? I couldn’t just bring him back to Hogwarts. After all, no one outside the Order knew that I was there in the first place. Two Malfoy sons showing up, both on the run, would be reckless. Each attempt at a solution to this impending crisis just brought up more questions and fewer answers.


	19. Fighting Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I just couldn’t get that picture out of my head, Draco dead, Lucius holding him, wailing like a wounded animal. The shrillness of his cry tore through me, and even as I sat perched at the Staff table for dinner, I couldn’t focus on anything else. I nearly transformed back into myself because I was so distracted by my troubling thoughts._

As a safeguard, Professor McGonagall forbade me to leave the castle for any other reason than to deliver messages for her. I had a feeling she knew what I was thinking. As frustrating as that was, and as mutinous as I felt, I obeyed. I still had no idea what to do about my brother, so in the meantime, there was no sense in incurring McGonagall’s wrath. I was too afraid she’d expose my whereabouts and let me get sent off to Azkaban or something. I had been through far too much to blow it all, so I stayed put. The waiting felt like torture, and to top it all off, I had to sit on my perch at the Staff table the following morning and watch from a distance as Padma and Terry played footsie with each other and snogged. That was my morning game with her, not his, dammit. I pined and mourned.

Hermione was no help to me at that time, as sympathetic and supportive as she was. Sitting casually in Professor McGonagall’s office late that afternoon, we talked about the whole situation, though she really had nothing to offer by way of ideas or strategies. In fact, she was dead set against my desire to locate my brother and try to keep him from home.

“Even if you did keep him from Malfoy Manor, Darwin,” she said, “how do you think he’d feel knowing that the one chance he had to protect his mother was thwarted? He’d hate you. He might even kill you over that. You know how he is about his mother. He’s always been extremely protective of her, even when he insults other people’s mothers.”

“Father made a promise to do away with that coven,” I said adamantly. “He will kill his wife, Blaise’s mum and whoever else is involved with their scheme. This isn’t Draco’s fight. He needs to stay away!”

“Do you think it will really matter to him whether it’s his fight?” she asked. “Narcissa is his mother. He loves her. You know that she’s the only one he really loves.” Hermione blushed, suddenly realising she had just said something awkward. I blushed, too.

“It’s not just her, Hermione,” I replied.

“I didn’t mean…”

“No, you don’t understand. You didn’t see those family photographs of Draco and Father. I know he wants to protect Narcissa, but he’s going to have a hard time fighting against our father. He’s not prepared for this kind of conflict, Hermione. Father will kill Narcissa regardless of Draco’s presence, so why not try and keep Draco out of the way so he doesn’t wind up dead, too? Doesn’t that make sense?” I was pleading with her for some reason. I guess I needed to feel validated somehow. In reality, I was mostly just confused and grief-stricken.

Hermione looked away. “I don’t know what to say, Darwin,” she said gravely. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now.”

I almost cried just then, but I restrained my tears. “It’s just that I’ve only now started to have a good relationship with my brother, and…I don’t want to lose him. I’ve been alone my whole life! Draco is the only family I have, besides Harry.” Oops. I shouldn’t have let that one slip.

“Harry?” Hermione said suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

I blanched. “I shouldn’t have said, that,” I said guiltily. “Look, Hermione, don’t tell anyone, OK? I seriously doubt he knows. His father and my mother are first cousins.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You mean Harry is related to the Duchess? Wow. How incongruous is that?” She thought for a moment. “You’re right, Darwin, he shouldn’t know about this, at least not right now.”

“And don’t tell Ron, OK?” I said.

“No, I won’t,” she replied. “Don’t worry.” Suddenly, her eyes brightened. “What if you were to send him a message, you know, to sort of throw him off the trail.”

“Harry?”

“DRACO!” she snapped.

“Oh yeah.” I realised what she meant now. My mind was scattered in a thousand directions from worry. “So I fly to him as an owl, give him some note telling him to apparate to Alaska or some faraway place, and that way he’ll stay away from Malfoy Manor?”

“Exactly. You could even have it signed by Narcissa.”

“That’s pushing it. I’m sure he knows her handwriting.”

“True.”

I really liked Hermione’s idea. “What should the note say? Oh wait!” I exclaimed. “It could be from me! He doesn’t know I’m here! He thinks I’m on the run, too. I could tell him to meet me in some location where we could talk and sort of catch up.”

She nodded. “That’s good. You do know that this means you’ll need to break McGonagall’s rule?”

“Two rules, actually,” I corrected her.

Hermione suddenly became very serious. “Darwin, this is dangerous. It could go very wrong, even if you are careful. You’re meddling with some very wicked wizards and witches in this, and quite frankly, that includes Narcissa Malfoy. McGonagall put those rules in place for your own safety. Professor Snape took a major risk in getting you out of Malfoy Manor, and your own brother also took a risk in protecting you. A lot of people have gone to great lengths to keep you alive and safe.”

I scowled. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty about this, you’re doing a good job.”

“I’m just trying to make you think twice about throwing yourself into something like this, Darwin. I don’t think you realise how many people truly care about what happens to you. We feel about you the same way you feel about your brother. We love you.”

That was the first time I had ever heard those words directed at me. Well, except for Padma. But that was different. Hermione’s sentiment was deeper and more abiding because it wasn’t based on any conditions or appearances. It was just love, pure and true.

And then I did something I shouldn’t have. I leaned forward in my chair and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Yes, she had a boyfriend and yes, I was lonely and frustrated, but that wasn’t really why I kissed her. It was something I needed to do. I hadn’t expected her to kiss me back, and when she did, I wondered why. I decided not to ask. We kissed a little more intensely, and soon, I felt her hand caress my face and my chest. I pulled her close to me and wrapped my arms around her as our kiss deepened. A little moan of pleasure escaped her, and that was when I pulled away. This had gone way too far. We both sat back, embarrassed and a little guilty. Neither of us said anything for a minute.

“Where did that come from?” I asked myself aloud. “I’m sorry, Hermione. That was out of line.”

“No, I was the one out of line. I shouldn’t have done that.” She straightened her blouse and readjusted her uniform tie.

“We won’t tell Ron, right?”

She sighed. “I don’t think he’d take it well. We argued this morning and nearly broke up, actually.”

“What about?”

She scowled. “Ernie Macmillan reprimanded him last night for not keeping up with his Prefect duties.”

“Was that true?”

“Yes, it was! Ron’s gotten used to pawning off duties on me or on one of the other Prefects, and Ernie got tired of it and said he would report him to McGonagall if he didn’t shape up!”

“Ouch! Not good. Those two never really did get along, did they?”

“No. Not at all. So this morning, Ron was still going on about the whole thing, and when I dared to agree with Ernie, he nearly took my head off!”

“Is he always that sensitive? Can’t he take a bit of criticism?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s always touchy. Even as First Years, when I’d say the least thing to him, he’d just throw it back in my face. Fighting and arguing is the basis of our relationship, I’m afraid.”

“Sounds like me and Draco. But at least you and Ron don’t punch each other.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t think I’m not tempted sometimes.”

I chuckled. “I wouldn’t recommend it. You’ll just bruise up your pretty hands.”

She smiled. “Honestly, Darwin!” She leaned forward and kissed me again, quickly this time. She stood up. “Speaking of duties, I’ve got to go.” Hermione looked at me earnestly. “Don’t do anything rash, Darwin. Your brother is strong. He’s a powerful wizard, so don’t forget that. He can take care of himself.”

I wasn’t so sure. I just couldn’t get that picture out of my head, Draco dead, Lucius holding him, wailing like a wounded animal. The shrillness of his cry tore through me, and even as I sat perched at the Staff table for dinner, I couldn’t focus on anything else. I nearly transformed back into myself because I was so distracted by my troubling thoughts. When Hagrid tried to ply me with a chip, I flew away, soaring in broad circles over the heads of the students. I saw Terry Boot instinctively follow me with his eyes, certain I’d get him again. But I didn’t have the heart for it that evening. 

I landed on the Gryffindor table in front of Neville and clicked my beak at him. He stroked my feathers and fed me a bite of his dinner.

“He shouldn’t eat human food, Neville,” Ginny said warningly. “They get used to it and then they won’t eat what they’re supposed to eat.”

“I don’t think he likes owl food,” Neville replied. “Hagrid never gives him owl food. Only Professor McGonagall does.” He gave me more of his dinner. Neville really is a great bloke. I wished I could tell him who was eating his dinner so gratefully. I hopped up on his shoulder and nuzzled his hair.

Hermione smiled. “He likes you, Neville!” she said.

Ron only snarled. And just like that, he picked up a roll, a whole roll, and chucked it at me. I took off from Neville’s shoulder, making sure to whack Ron right in the face with my wings as I went. I could hear Hermione reprimanding Ron sharply as I flew off. I wondered if he knew who I was, if Hermione told him. I wondered if he knew we had kissed, even if it was very briefly. Hermione wouldn’t let a thing like that slip, would she? Maybe Ron’s parents told him who I was, and maybe he confronted Hermione about it and she told him we kissed. I had no idea what to think, to be honest. OK, I know I did a really bad thing by kissing her like that, but it just sort of happened. I felt like a cad.

Rather than returning to my perch, as I’m sure Professor McGonagall expected me to, I flew up and out the window, not caring suddenly whether she saw me go. That sense of claustrophobia had settled in on me again, and I needed to get away from that place even for just an hour. My anger and distress was building up to dangerous levels, and I was close to wanting to return so I could bite off Terry’s ear. I had to suppress my mother’s violent nature immediately, even as an owl. I flew and flew, first circling the lake and then taking a dip through a small part of the Forbidden Forest, but then I skirted out and around the perimeter of the forest, flying higher and higher. I flew over the front gates of the castle, out toward Hogsmeade, deciding to head to the Three Broomsticks, room 204.

The second I landed in that room, I transformed into myself, slammed the window shut and pulled the curtains closed. Dazed and confused and overwhelmed by emotion, I sank down onto the plush chair in the corner and fell apart. I was half tempted within those floods of tears to leave Hogwarts altogether, forge my own path and try to find my brother. In my darker musings, I felt compelled to go straight to Malfoy Manor and kill Lucius before he could kill Draco. That one was ridiculous. I knew that. All I could manage in that desolate moment was to cry and let all my suppressed emotions out of my system. I remembered what Snape had done for me so long ago, giving me the opportunity to decompress, just like this.

But this time, the pain didn’t go away, unlike before. It became all the more keen and bitter, and I was helpless to stop it.

Exhausted from my emotional breakdown, I lay down on the bed for a while, watching the play of shadows on the ceiling. I sighed and tried to get comfortable, but it was no good. The picture of my brother and father haunted me still. I sat up.

“I can’t let this happen,” I said resolutely. “If they won’t help him, then I’ll have to do it myself.”

* * * * *

When I returned to the castle a few hours later, McGonagall, Lupin and Hermione were waiting for me, looking both concerned and cross. They sat before me like a jury, ready to hand down judgement against me.

“Where have you been?” McGonagall asked sternly.

“Nowhere I shouldn’t be,” I replied curtly.

“Don’t be cheeky with me, Smith,” she snapped. “I told you to remain in the castle.”

“Any attempt to leave Hogwarts…” Lupin began.

“Look, sir, please,” I said. “I needed some time to myself. I’m not trying to cause trouble.”

“We know you are upset about this situation with the Malfoys, Darwin,” McGonagall started.

“You have no idea how I’m feeling about this!” I shot back. “This is my family, my brother! That means a lot to me! You can’t just expect me to sit idly by and watch my family destroy itself! I have a duty to them!”

“It is too dangerous for you to get involved,” Lupin said.

“I don’t care!” I shouted. “This isn’t just about me staying alive! Not any more! Greater things are at stake! I couldn’t live with myself if I just sat back and let my brother die by my father’s hand. I couldn’t sleep at night if I did that, just for self-preservation!” I paused, fearing that I might really lose control. “I know how much everyone has done for me, that you’ve made all these special accommodations for me, and I’m really touched. I’m so grateful. No one has ever been this good to me in my life.”

“Including your family,” Lupin pointed out. “But we’re your family, too, Darwin. Don’t forget that.”

“I know, sir. If any of you knew that your own sibling, your blood relation were in danger, wouldn’t you do everything you could to save him and keep him out of harm’s way?” I asked them all.

Lupin’s face softened. “We don’t even know where he is, Darwin. He might not even know of the Death Eaters’ plot.”

“Can I use magic to find him?” I asked.

“As an owl, you have special abilities to find anyone. But you’ll have to fly, not apparate.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Remus!” McGonagall said, aghast. “You can’t send him out there!”

“He has a point, Minerva,” he replied.

She shook her head. “No. I will not allow this. Absolutely not. If I have to cage you up and place a charm on the lock, Darwin, that’s what I’ll do!” She looked at me with a mixture of frustration and worry. Her face softened. “Darwin, you are looking at this situation through a boy’s eyes.”

In other words, she thought I was being immature. I opened my mouth to reply, but she continued on.

“I think you’ve gained a rather sentimental view of your father,” she said. “You stayed at his house, saw how he lived, undoubtedly looked through his private things.”

I blushed. “You didn’t see all the photographs he has, all of the family, Professor.”

McGonagall smiled. “I’m sure they’re lovely, Darwin.” She pulled out a few muggle photographs and placed them on the desk in front of me. They were all of groups of friends and families, all laughing and joking about and having a fine time at a resort in the mountains. She pointed to a man with a funny little moustache. “Do you recognise him?” she asked.

I looked. Suddenly, I understood. “It’s Adolph Hitler.”

“The man sitting and laughing next to him is Joseph Goebbels. And the woman is Magda Goebbels. Those are their children. They all committed suicide together when the Third Reich fell. Magda killed the children first, with cyanide and a sleeping potion.”

I sighed. I felt like a fool.

“Darwin,” McGonagall said softly, maternally, “you have no idea who your father really is. You’ve seen his arrogance and you’ve seen his lighter moments with his family, but the real Lucius Malfoy? No, that person you do not know.”

“She’s quite right,” Lupin said. “That moment when you witnessed him choose You-Know-Who over his own family—that was the real Lucius Malfoy. He won’t think twice about killing his son.”

“But he was disturbed by that!” I asserted. “I saw it in his eyes! I mean, maybe someone could sort of talk him out of it!”

McGonagall frowned. “Evil does not negotiate, Darwin, and nor can you negotiate with evil.”

“Why should my brother have to pay a price for someone else’s evil?” I asked. “It’s not right! It’s not fair to him! There has to be a solution. How do we keep him away from home? The Death Eaters are on the move! We have to act quickly.”

“Severus,” Lupin said.

* * * * *

The question was, would Snape do this? Would he keep Draco out of harm’s way? Would Draco cooperate with that, or was Snape now in danger of being killed by my brother?

No one told me a word. Not for two whole days. McGonagall, true to her threat, imprisoned me in my cage, and every spell I tried to undo the lock backfired on me. Hermione brought me chips and bits of roast beef and lamb. The food was good, but it gave me no solace. It was like I was a small child again, locked in a dark room for days at a time. I knew why McGonagall did it, of course. Unlike my foster parents, she wasn’t trying to abuse me or be intentionally cruel to me. She was no sadist, unlike some of the muggles who had charge of my life years ago. But the isolation had similar results—nightmares, anxiety, fear. The claustrophobia was almost unbearable.

One morning, McGonagall tapped on my cage to wake me up.

“Phantom? Time to get up!” she said. To my delight and relief, she pulled out a small gold key and unlocked the cage. I hopped out and onto her shoulder. She fed me an owl treat. I still wasn’t used to them, but I ate it anyway. I fluttered over to the desk, wanting to transform, but before I could, she pulled out a small parchment and tied it to my leg. “Now then, Phantom, I want you to deliver a very important message for me. Take this to the Three Broomsticks, room 204.”

That could mean one of many things. Maybe Draco was there, or maybe Snape, or even Harry. Or it could be someone else, of course, or no one, or a House Elf or perhaps someone from the Order. Then again, the Order was pretty open about coming in and out of Hogwarts, so I didn’t know why they’d go to this secret location. All these thoughts raced through my head as I made the short flight from McGonagall’s office to Hogsmeade. The air felt clean and light that morning, and I was sure the sun shone a bit brighter, too.

Call me an optimist.

When I landed on the windowsill of room 204, I peered inside, but saw no one. I hopped into the room and perched myself on the desk. I hooted, wondering if the person was hiding. No response, at least not for a few seconds. But then, I saw the knob of the wardrobe turn, and my heart leapt as I watched the white blond head of my brother peer around the wardrobe door. I hopped up and down and clicked my beak with joy.

Draco looked different from the last time I had seen him. Actually, he looked great. He was tanned and had let his beard grow in—I barely recognised him like that. His hair was longer, sort of shaggy but well-kempt. He dressed entirely as a muggle, with blue jeans, black polo-neck and a black leather coat. Actually, my brother looked quite posh and stylish, even if he wasn’t in wizard robes. He saw me and the note tied to my leg, so he shut the wardrobe door and approached me quietly, looking slightly suspicious.

He stroked my feathers with his typical rough touch, but I didn’t mind. “Aren’t you a pretty one,” he said admiringly. He untied the note and read the message once, then twice, then three times. Draco eyed me curiously now, with questioning eyes. “The note says you’re supposed to reveal yourself to me,” he said, holding the note in front of me. I read it over carefully:

_Mr. Malfoy,  
I hope this note finds you well and in good health. Unfortunately, I have serious news for you. Your life may be in danger within the next seven days, and the Order of the Phoenix wishes to be of assistance to you. Setting aside the tragic events of last year, our concern now is for your safety and security. In light of this, I must ask you not to leave this room, and do not speak to anyone other than myself, Severus or Remus._

_The owl is an Animagus, and will reveal his identity to you. He is instructed to be the liaison between you and the Order. Again, do not leave the room for any reason. We will contact you in a few hours via the owl with more information._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall  
Order of the Phoenix_

I hopped down to the floor, and before Draco’s stunned expression, transformed into myself. He stood there for several seconds, mouth gaping in amazement at the sight. I was sure that I was the very last person he ever would have expected to be an Animagus. Suddenly weak in the knees, he sank down onto the bed, still staring at me.

“I don’t bloody believe it,” he said. “Darwin!”

“Surprised to see me?”

He nodded. “Stunned is more like it. You’re the last person I ever would have thought could be an Animagus.”

I laughed. He stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. “I’m so relieved to see you,” I said. “I’ve been worried about you for months! You look a lot better than I thought you would!”

We sat back down on the bed to talk.

“I know,” he said. “I’ve gotten positively fat! So when did you leave the Manor?” he asked. “I thought you’d be there for a long time.”

“The Order sort of…removed me from there. I guess things were getting too dangerous.”

“There’s a plot on right now,” Draco said. “I’m sick about it. The Dark Lord has sent out a detachment of Death Eaters to suppress mother’s coven.”

“You know? When did you hear about that?” I was shocked. I had no idea that Draco was so well informed.

“Zabini told me two days ago. His mum’s involved, which I guess you already know.”

“I remember her well.”

Draco rubbed his hands together nervously. “I don’t know what to do about it. My instinct tells me to go straight there, but Snape told me that’s the last place I should go.”

“Whatever happens there is something you can’t stop, Draco, no matter what you do.”

Draco scowled. “You sound like Snape.”

“You need to follow Professor McGonagall’s directions.”

“What does she know? She doesn’t care if my mother dies!”

“She cares if YOU die, Draco!”

He snorted at that. “Yeah, right. Probably wants to do the honour herself. Bitch.”

“You’re being a brat,” I snapped.

“Oh thanks! My mother is about to die and I’M the one with the problem!”

“That’s not what I meant! Look, Draco, you’ve got to be calm.”

In a blast of fury, he kicked the door of the wardrobe with a loud bang. “I can’t be fucking calm!” he shouted. “I shouldn’t be in this bloody place! I should be HOME!”

“Please, Draco, don’t!” I pleaded. “Look, they want to help you, and maybe help this situation, so you have to calm down and stay put! OK?”

He snarled at me and plopped back down on the bed. “How long do I have to wait.”

“I’m going to fly back to the castle and find out what they want, and I’ll be right back. Just stay here.”

I threw my arms around him and held him close for a moment—he fought back tears, but I knew he was close to falling apart. With my own heart breaking for him, I gave him a kiss on the cheek, transformed back into an owl and made my way back to Hogwarts, hoping desperately that the Order had come to a solution that would save my brother’s life.

Hope was all I had.


	20. An Awful Find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I pulled out my wand and started looking throughout the house for any sign of life. The first room I entered was the library. I gasped at the sight. Nearly all the hundreds and hundreds of books were strewn throughout the grand room as if trashed by a troll or a giant. Many of the shelves were broken. The desk lay on its side, with a cavernous hole through its surface. Just beyond the desk I saw…I gasped…a body._

It never ceases to amaze me how natural family is. There are things you can say and do with a relative that would be awkward or strange with anyone else. I still revel in that feeling of connection. OK, I’ll be honest. It’s not so much that my brother and I have some wonderful, perfect relationship, because we don’t. Not by a long shot. We argue most of the time, and we still come to blows, though not as much as before. We both know that we are a part of each other’s lives, whether we like it or not, and we both know that when it comes down to it, we really need each other.

Sitting in that room at the Three Broomsticks with Draco, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. And the last thing I wanted to do in that moment was to return to the castle. I wanted to talk to him, find out where he’d been, how he was doing.

But that would have to wait a very long time.

Being a dutiful liaison, I determined to get their next message and go straight back to my brother. I feared that if we waited too long, he might leave and end up doing something very stupid.

Sure enough, gathered in McGonagall’s office were Lupin, Shaklebolt, the Weasley mum and dad, Tonks, Moody and another man I didn’t know—at first I thought it was the Minister of Magic, but it wasn’t. He had to have been at least fifteen years older than the Minister. I soared through the window and landed on the floor, instantly transforming back to myself.

“So what happened?” McGonagall asked. “Did he make it?”

“We have to act fast because he’s this close to leaving and going home,” I said.

“Did he read the note? Does he know to stay put?” McGonagall asked.

“He knows, Professor, but that doesn’t mean he’ll obey.”

“Well whatever happens,” Shaklebolt said, “Lucius must succeed in his mission. His failure to suppress the coven could drive You-Know-Who underground again, making it that much harder for Harry to do his job.”

“Why would he go underground?” I asked, incredulous at the thought. “I thought he was powerful again.”

“He is, boy, but he prefers to work in secret,” Moody explained gruffly. “Why do you think he sent out his cronies under cover of darkness to kill that coven of your mother’s?”

Lupin saw my disgust and sought to put me at ease. “I know this sounds horrible, Darwin, but we have to look at the larger picture.” That did not put me at ease.

“No one wants to cause pain to your family intentionally,” Arthur said. What a stupid thing to say! I know he meant well, but geez! I hate platitudes, even if they’re well-intentioned.

I couldn’t look at any of them. I wanted to punch everyone in the room. “And how are we going to keep Draco from Malfoy Manor, then? You may wish his mother to die, but surely you don’t want him to die!”

“Of course not, my dear,” Molly said. “We don’t want anyone to die!”

“Then what’s the plan? Are we supposed to sit by and hope he stays put?” I asked insistently. “Don’t tell me you suddenly trust Draco Malfoy to obey his betters!”

“Mr. Smith, do not be rude,” McGonagall warned. She held up a parchment. “The plan for your brother is in this note. You will give it to him straight away and then wait with him for the next half hour or so. By then, Tonks will arrive at room 204 with further instructions for both of you.”

Actually, that sounded reasonable. Suddenly the weight of worry lifted from my shoulders, knowing that Draco would be in the hands of a trusted Auror and member of the Order. Finally, after so long a struggle, everything would be alright.

“I’m sorry I was rude, everyone,” I said sheepishly.

“We understand,” Arthur replied.

“We know you’re worried, dear,” Molly said. “But if you trust us, your brother will be just fine.”

After a little more talk and strategizing, I transformed back into an owl so McGonagall could attach the note to my leg. The flight back to the Three Broomsticks was a much happier journey. I looked up at the stars in the sky and the crescent moon just beyond the treetops. The town of Hogsmeade neared, and then I saw the Three Broomsticks, and finally, room 204. I would fly in, get Draco to tear off the note and transform as fast as I could to tell him the news.

But when I entered the room, it was empty. Maybe he was hiding in the wardrobe again. I tapped on the door and waited a few frantic seconds. No answer. Maybe he went down to have a drink. I hoped that was the case. I flew out the window and down to the pub on the ground floor. I flew in and perched on a beam high over the heads of the noisy patrons. The place was positively jam-packed and smoky and filled with activity. I saw Professor Sprout down there, at the bar with Professor Grubbly-Plank. Hagrid was there, too—he’s hard to miss—sitting in a dark corner with a glass the size of a depth charge. I looked for white blond hair, but saw nothing. Grey hair, silver hair—yes. No blonds, at least not like Draco. I saw someone with a black hood up, but I could tell by the hands that it was a woman.

My heart pounded nervously. I wasn’t gone that long, was I? Could it be that he was in the bathroom? That was a possibility. I left the pub and went back up to room 204, but again, the room was empty. I landed on the desk and pulled at the string holding the note to my leg. The note and the string fell off, and in a blink, I transformed back to myself. I searched the wardrobe again, now extremely anxious. Empty. I went to the door, poked my head out to see if the hallway was empty. It was. I crept down to the bathroom and entered. I peered under all the stalls, but all were unoccupied.

“Damn!” I hissed. I leaned against the bathroom wall, ready to tear my hair out. The son of a bitch actually left! Stupid git! Did he have a death wish or something? This was beyond belief.

Back in room 204, I paced angrily, waiting for Tonks to show up. Where was she? Where the bloody hell was she, dammit? I paced and paced, grumbling obscenities to myself, abusing Draco, Lucius, You-Know-Who, Terry Boot, anyone I could think of. I wanted to run after my brother and stop him and beat the hell out of him for going off like that, but that would cause even more trouble. Tonks would know I was gone, and then she’d report it to the Order, and then they’d send a whole group of people to save my arse when they shouldn’t be anywhere near Malfoy Manor. Then again, neither should I. Then again, neither should Draco.

Finally, a knock at the door.

“Darwin?” a female voice whispered.

I flung open the door. “The bastard’s gone,” I said.

Tonks, her hair a troubling shade of deep green, groaned in exasperation. “I don’t bloody believe it,” she exclaimed. “Did he leave a note?”

“No. But we both know where he went.”

She nodded her head. “Kingsley will have to know about this.”

“Look, you can tell him what you want, but I’m going out there,” I said.

“I’ll go with you,” she replied. “But we do need to send word where we’re going. Stay here for a moment. I’ll send Rosmerta’s owl to Hogwarts, OK?”

That sounded good to me. While I waited, I unrolled the note from McGonagall to see what she had to say to Draco.

_Mr. Malfoy,  
Your brother and a member of the Order will personally escort you to a safehouse in London tonight, where you will be able to wait out the next few days. I know this will not be easy for you, and am very mindful of the pain you must be suffering from this, but do not give in to panic or fear. You must stay out of the situation entirely and remain at the safehouse._

_I’ll see you very soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall  
Order of the Phoenix_

So much for that suggestion. I crumpled up the note and vanished it.

* * * * *

Together, Tonks and I apparated to the grove near Malfoy Manor. I apparated as an owl, whereas Tonks altered her appearance to look like a very old lady. I perched on her shoulder. Everything around the house was very quiet. Almost too quiet. The air felt chilly and ominous. My old vision of Draco being cradled by Father haunted me again. I squeezed Tonks’ shoulder lightly with my talons, indicating that we should move forward. She looked about first, then walked slowly and soundlessly onto the path that lead to Malfoy Manor.

As we neared the house, we saw that the front gates stood open. I felt sure that was not normal. Tonks sighed under me and looked all around, scanning the area for anything suspicious.

“That doesn’t look right,” she whispered to me. “Keep an eye out for anything that moves.”

Looking around again, she entered the gates and approached the house cautiously. Still perched on her shoulder, I moved my head completely around, in all directions, looking for any clue of sign of Draco’s presence, or for my father’s presence. I wondered how many Death Eaters he brought with him to do this.

“It’s too quiet,” she commented in a very low whisper. I hooted in agreement. She moved forward, pushing open the unlocked front door. It groaned heavily as it swung open slowly and smoothly. We entered cautiously. Tonks gasped in horror at what we saw. All I could do was click my beak in distress.

“My gods!” she whispered. “What went on in here?”

Inside, the lush, luxurious front room was in complete disarray, looking as if it had been hit by a cyclone or a muggle bomb. The china vases were all blown to bits, the walls bore gaping holes, and the furniture was scattered in every direction—a heavy oak table was completely smashed into splinters.

I hopped off Tonks’ shoulder and transformed into myself.

“No, Darwin, you shouldn’t!” she warned.

“Draco might be buried in all this! He might be hurt!”

I pulled out my wand and started looking throughout the house for any sign of life. The first room I entered was the library. I gasped at the sight. Nearly all the hundreds and hundreds of books were strewn throughout the grand room as if trashed by a troll or a giant. Many of the shelves were broken. The desk lay on its side, with a cavernous hole through its surface. Just beyond the desk I saw…I gasped…a body.

I dashed over to see who it was. The woman was middle aged, silver-haired, with coarse features. She was dead. As I stood up, I spied another body, slumped in the corner. Nearing the lifeless form, I recognised her as Francesca Zabini. I could barely breathe from sheer panic and fright. I had never seen a dead person before. Even when Diggory died, I didn’t see him at all. I was too far back in the stands to see a thing.

“Gods! Blaise!” I whispered. I looked over my shoulder, wondering what went on this room. What violence brought these women’s lives to a terrible end?

I jumped at the sound of footsteps.

“Darwin!” Tonks hissed at me.

“There are two bodies in here!”

“I found three others,” she said, kneeling down next to me. “All women. None of them Death Eaters. Looks like Lucius did his job.”

Tears poured down my face. “He has to be alive, Tonks. He has to be.” I prayed feverishly.

She gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze and helped me to my feet. “Come on, let’s keep looking. Let’s go upstairs.”

I nodded and dried my eyes with my sleeve. As we passed through the morning room, I saw the House Elf’s body lying in a corner by the broken window. We circled around through the ballroom, which was relatively untouched, and back into the front hallway, being careful to step over broken glass and smashed furniture. I lead the way up the stairs, my heart heavy, hoping that we had seen the worst of the damage to the beautiful estate. I murmured “Protego” consistently, just in case any Death Eater was still inside.

Tonks and I decided to go in separate directions. She went left, toward the guest rooms, whilst I went right, toward the family’s bedrooms. The first door I opened led into Draco’s bedroom. The room was strangely immaculate, entirely untouched. It felt eerie and still. Not a single item in that massive room was broken or even cracked. I carefully opened the wardrobe, my wand out and ready to strike any hiding Death Eater. But all that was inside was Draco’s luxurious clothes. My eye caught the green nightshirt I had borrowed in June. It felt soft and delicate in my fingers. I gripped it hard and prayed to God that Draco would be alright.

As I turned to continue my search, the door opened. Draco stood there stupidly, his arms hanging loosely at his side, his face ashen and forsaken. His pale blue eyes stared blankly ahead at nothing at all. He looked as if he would speak, but no words came out of his open mouth. I approached him cautiously, fearfully, not knowing what to say to him.

“Draco?” I said.

His eyes met mine. “I…I…was too late,” he murmured. His voice shook terribly. “I was too late. She’s gone. She’s…gone.” His voice held no emotion, no life, no hope at all.

I approached him and placed my arms around him. He didn’t move a muscle. His body felt cold. He shivered.

“Come on,” I said softly. “I’m going to take you out of here.”

But still, he didn’t move. It was as if he were paralysed, soldered to the spot. I nudged him a bit harder.

“Draco, come on,” I insisted. “We’ve got to get away from here.”

He shook his head. “I can’t…leave her.”

“You have to. It’s not safe here.”

“I CAN’T LEAVE HER!” he bellowed. He sank to his knees and sobbed inconsolably.

Tonks rushed in at the sound of Draco’s voice. She saw him on the floor, and motioned for me to step into the corridor with her.

“I found her,” she whispered. “She’s dead. He must have arrived after it was all over.”

“What are we going to do?” I asked. “He won’t leave.”

Tonks pulled out her wand. “Leave it to me. I’ll do it so you don’t get in trouble with him.”

I nodded.

Tonks pointed her wand at Draco and said quietly, “Petrificus totalus!” A shaft of light flew out of her wand and hit Draco square in the back—I watched with revulsion as his body stiffened and toppled over helplessly. With a flick of her wand, Tonks made Draco’s body rise up in the air.

“Come on, let’s get him outside,” she said. Carefully, she floated Draco down the stairs and once again, out the door. Once outdoors, Tonks spoke in hushed tones. “OK, Darwin, I’ll get him to the safehouse—we’ll worry about reviving him and all. You need to return to Hogwarts and tell the Order what just happened.

“I want to be with…” I started.

“You can be with him later, but I need you to do this right now.” Tonks patted my shoulder. “You’ve been very brave through all this, and we need you to keep being brave. We’re counting on you, kiddo.” And with that, she took hold of Draco’s shoulders and disapparated.

Naturally, Tonks was right. I couldn’t believe how much had happened in just a few days. It all made my head spin, and that’s no owl pun. I disapparated back to room 204, quickly transformed into an owl and rushed back to the castle to make my report. They were all there, still waiting for any word of what had just happened. What I wasn’t expecting was to burst into tears the second I transformed back to myself. There was so much stress, so much fear and heartache, and the second I was away from that horrible scene of death, I lost control of myself.

Professor McGonagall jumped up from her seat and rushed over with a handkerchief. “Mr. Smith, what on earth happened?” she asked, troubled by my rush of grief.

Molly Weasley took me by the elbow and led me to a chair. Arthur handed me a glass of sherry. I tried to drink it, but I couldn’t stop crying long enough. I took a deep breath and tried to pull myself together.

“All…dead!” I choked.

“What?” Lupin exclaimed.

“Everyone! The whole coven! Dead!” I said through tears. “He was too late! He found them all like that! He found her…” I dissolved into new sobs.

“Where’s Tonks?” Lupin asked worriedly. “Is she alright?”

I nodded. I blew my nose and dried my eyes. My head throbbed. “She took Draco to the safehouse. She’s fine.”

“What about Mr. Malfoy?” McGonagall asked. “Your brother, I mean.”

“He’s destroyed,” I said miserably. “He’ll never be the same again. He was in complete shock when we found him.” I described the entire, chaotic scene. “It was a massacre,” I said.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Lupin said. I knew he was being sincere.

“Can I go to him? Please? He needs family right now.”

McGonagall nodded. “Spend tomorrow with him, but in the evening, we need to you deliver a message to Severus.”

“Is he in the same place?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Is it about the coven?” I asked.

“It’s about several things,” she replied.

“We also think it wise for you to sit at that same window and do a little more eavesdropping,” Shaklebolt said. “You can get to us more quickly than Severus can in this situation.”

“If we play this right,” McGonagall told me, “you just might be able to come out of hiding by the New Year, Darwin. This is a crucial moment.”

“Does Harry know any of this?” I asked.

“Miss Granger sent him an owl a few hours ago,” McGonagall said. “Whatever information you can gather in the next day or two could break this situation wide open and bring it to a positive resolution once and for all.”

That sounded hopeful. I was pretty much in the dark about most of what was going on, but I had a feeling that I would get clued in pretty darn fast. Maybe too fast. That night I took a slow flight out of Hogwarts, landing every so often in a tall tree or a spire—the higher up the better. The cool night air felt good suddenly, helping to clear my troubled mind. I had seen so much death and terrible destruction these last few hours, mourned so horribly for what my brother had suffered, but in this brief clip of time, I stood still in the breeze and let the air renew my tattered spirits.

I’d need my strength if I were to endure the days to come.

* * * * *

The safehouse, as it happened, was the same one to which Snape brought me months ago when he stole me out of Malfoy Manor. It struck me unexpectedly that he truly did save my life that night. I wondered with a shudder whether I would have been killed along with the coven had he not rescued me when he did. I wondered if that was why he came for me. Looking back, it probably was.

Draco lay upstairs, lost in a deep, drugged sleep. Tonks sat at his bedside, but quickly rose when I opened the bedroom door and came out of the room to talk to me. She led me to the far end of the corridor where we could have a bit of privacy.

“How is he?” I asked.

“Terrible!” she replied. She looked strained, worried, tired. “The moment I unfroze him, he freaked out and nearly tore my head off, so I had to stun him just to shut him up.”

“Did anyone help you? You didn’t have to deal with him alone, did you?”

“A friend from the Auror’s Office helped me out. He’s about five times Malfoy’s size, so I wasn’t worried, though it was a struggle to get his wand away from him. We gave him a potion to quiet him down for a few hours. It’ll wear off by morning.” I noticed that she had a bruise on her jaw. “Anyway, your brother is out of his mind with grief right now, and quite frankly, I don’t blame him. I couldn’t imagine finding my own mum like that. I feel so horrible for him.”

“I’ll go sit with him,” I said. “And thanks for this.”

She gave me a hug. “How about you, love? Are you doing alright?”

I sighed. “Yeah, I suppose so. As good as I can, considering. Look, I can stay until tomorrow evening, but then I’ll be off on a little errand for McGonagall.”

“Stay as long as you like,” she offered. “And don’t worry about Draco. He’s in good hands. We’ll take care of him.”

I wished Hermione were there to get me through all this. I wished I could talk to Neville. I wished Padma… Well, I guess that was over for sure. I wanted to come out of hiding.

I took Tonks’ seat by Draco’s bed, propped up my feet on the edge of the bed and waited for him to wake up. He looked so peaceful lying there, as if nothing at all had occurred. I watched him for a little while, but then the lateness of the hour and my own exhaustion took over, and pretty soon, my head flopped forward and I fell fast asleep…

A beam of sunlight caught my eye that morning as I turned over under the blankets. I snoozed languorously, lazily, as if I had no other worries in the world. The bed was so comfortable and so warm and I…the bed? I sat up, only to see Draco sitting where I was last night. He had shaved off his beard and combed his hair. Actually, he looked pretty good.

“It’s about bloody time you were up,” he said. “It’s half past eleven!”

I must be a seriously deep sleeper or something. “Wasn’t I…” I started.

“I woke up a few hours ago. You were out like a light so I sort of picked you up and put you to bed,” he explained.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“No. I sort of lost my head yesterday, I guess. I’m sorry I ran off like that, Darwin,” Draco said.

“I’m sorry you had to see all that,” I replied glumly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Draco shook his head. “No. Not today, anyway.”

“Did you see anything?” I asked. “I mean, you didn’t…witness it, did you?”

“No. It was all over. Father was long gone.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Stay here for the moment.” He looked away, out at the sunshine in the blue sky. “How did everything get out of control, Darwin?” Draco asked. “How did you and I get pulled into all this? Why couldn’t we just grow up, like anyone else?”

“The Legacy Bond,” I replied.

“It’s like a curse!” he spat. “We were supposed to control our own lives by rejecting the Legacy Bond, but that’s just a lie! It still controls us!”

“It’s not the Bond,” I said. “It’s the fact that you and I have very evil origins.”

“Sounds like a curse to me,” he replied. “You’re lucky, you know. You don’t have the Malfoy name. You can do what you want.”

“We can change it, Draco.”

“To Smith? Please, don’t insult me.”

“That’s not what I mean. We can change what it is to be a Malfoy.”

He laughed derisively. “It’s meant only one thing for centuries! You can’t change that! You can’t change your origins, Darwin!”

“No, but we don’t have to be ruled by them! Draco, you and both made the same, free choice to reject the Legacy Bond. We are both free to act as we wish! Whatever Father does with his life, he is powerless to change that! He’s taken a lot from us, but we can’t let him take our freedom of choice away!”

Bringing up Father was probably a bad idea. The moment I said it, Draco’s face fell and he got that glazed over look in his eyes again. I wished I were a Legilimens at that moment, to see what was going on in Draco’s mind. I could see that he was thinking fast and furious, but I feared the worst, that he might let me have it again.

Suddenly, he looked into my eyes, which prompted me to use Occlumency. He laughed.

“You’re right, Darwin,” he said. “I don’t want to turn into my father…or my mother. I don’t want to live for the Dark Lord and end up the way they both did. I…I want to be happy. I want to be a good friend…and a good brother, too.”


	21. Infiltrating the Dark Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In the Death Eaters walked, almost robotically, in casual lines that weren’t quite straight, but organised all the same. I perched up in a tree near the door, watching them all carefully. Fortunately, they were all so engrossed in conversation that no one, including Snape, looked up in my direction at all. Therefore, when the last one entered the room, I hopped down from my low branch and scuttled in, quickly dodging into a side chamber before anyone could spot me. I was pretty sure no one saw a thing._

Some muggle general—Patton, I think—said a very true thing: “War is hell.” I know that war often serves a purpose and can’t always be avoided. After all, if you have an evil maniac like You-Know-Who on the loose, destroying lives and killing innocent people, you can’t just let that go. People like You-Know-Who don’t listen to reason. All they do is kill, until they themselves are killed. It’s a sad fact of humanity, but there it is. It’s almost as though aggression and violence have carved out the path of history in some way. Civilisations rise and fall by the sword—or the wand—and somehow, humanity hasn’t figured out a more peaceful way of dealing with conflict.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m no warmonger or anything. If I had it my way, the world would be peaceful and united and free from abuse or war or terror. But I’m not in charge, and so, like everyone else, I somehow have to deal with people who have chosen violence as a way of life. Sorry if I’m getting too philosophical or political or whatever. It’s just that so often, people don’t take time to really think about these issues, and then we get controlled all over again because we don’t think.

Sometimes, I think that being a survivor of child physical abuse has given me a unique perspective on things. I was in serious danger of becoming just another statistic, a boy raised violently who then gave his life over to violence. That’s what happened to most dictators of muggle history: Hitler, Stalin, Hussein, all were terribly abused as children. Don’t get me wrong—abuse is not an excuse for violence as an adult. It just makes me wonder a bit. It makes me wonder about You-Know-Who’s childhood and whether he had been abused. It also makes me wonder about my mother’s childhood. To be honest, I have no idea how she was raised. I know the Potters are one of the leading wizarding families with a good, strong history. Harry came out alright, though he got roughed up pretty bad as a kid. His father turned out alright, too, or so I heard. Could it be that my mother was a sad victim of abuse who unleashed her anger and frustration on other people? Or was she just evil? 

Is there such a thing as a “bad seed”?

Whatever she was, I strove against the nature I had inherited from her. I wanted to be everything she wasn’t, everything she couldn’t be, and by my own choice. That’s why I was so adamant with Draco. He has as bad as history as mine from which to escape, but he had to choose it, too. He had to want goodness, honestly, I didn’t know if he did. I hoped that the shock of seeing his mother dead by his father’s hand would shock Draco into reality. It was all up to him.

* * * * *

**HORRIBLE SCENE AT MALFOY MANOR  
** By Edwina Scribblerus  
Staff Reporter 

_WILTSHIRE. In the early morning hours, a team of Aurors were alerted to the scene of a possible mass killing at Malfoy Manor. Upon arrival, Auror Kingsley Shaklebolt reported finding the bodies of seven witches, all allegedly members of a coven which had formed to usurp power from You-Know-Who. These witches, who included Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy and Mrs. Francesca Zabini, broke away from the control of You-Know-Who in order to serve a new master, Darwin Smith._

_Smith, 17, is the son of the notorious Duchess and Death Eater Lucius Malfoy. Neither Smith nor his half-brother, Draco Malfoy, were found at the scene. The younger Malfoy is alleged to have participated in the murder of Albus Dumbledore earlier this year, along with Hogwarts Professor and Death Eater Severus Snape. Snape, along with Malfoy and Smith, has not been seen since the night of Dumbledore’s murder._

_Aurors speculate that the brothers have gone to the side of their father, to await his further instructions. An intense search for both boys is underway by the Magical Law Enforcement department, and the absence of the Dark Mark has created new questions about the identity of the perpetrator…_

 

I couldn’t read any more. It was unbelievable that they still thought I was evil, though I guess I shouldn’t have been shocked. Draco and I sat in the kitchen eating lunch with Tonks and the other Auror, Karl. Apparently, Karl didn’t have a surname. Apparently, Karl didn’t need one. He was honestly the largest person I had ever seen who wasn’t a giant. He was thick and muscular and looked as if he could crush you with his little pinky. As big as Hagrid is, he’s nothing to this Karl fellow, and Hargrid’s a lot taller. But I bet Karl could take him in any wrestling match. I could see what Tonks meant about him.

Karl was the one who made our lunch, actually, and it was pretty good. It was a lot better than the rubbish I conjured up with my wand. The long sleep and the pure joy of being myself and not an owl whetted my appetite, and inside of fifteen minutes, I had eaten three sandwiches and was at work on number four. Draco, on the other hand, barely touched even his first. He looked so sad, so completely despondent. I lost my appetite.

“You want to talk about it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I just…can’t get it out of my mind,” he said quietly.

“What?” Tonks asked.

“Her. Just lying there on her bed, just like that. Eyes open, empty.” Draco shut his eyes for a moment. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“She loved you very much,” Tonks said gently.

Draco looked at her viciously. “She loved herself! Nothing else!” He flung his chair aside and stomped off, back upstairs. We could hear him slam the bedroom door.

I shrugged at her.

“That went badly,” she said helplessly.

“I don’t think he needs platitudes right now,” I said.

“Just let him be for a while,” Karl said. “He’ll be OK.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. Draco’s entire world had just changed violently in a matter of a few hours. You can’t just “get over” that, not so quickly anyway. He needed time, lots of time, to heal and come to terms with the shock.

I stood up. “Karl, thanks for the lunch. The sandwiches were great,” I said gratefully. “I’ll take one up to him.” I put a fresh sandwich on Draco’s plate and grabbed a glass of cold pumpkin juice, then headed upstairs to where Draco was. At least I hoped he was still there. I thought with sudden dread that he might have run off again, disapparated to some unknown place.

But when I opened the door, he was sitting there by the window, smoking a cigarette and gazing out the window.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make a scene. I know she meant well.”

“Where did you get the smokes?” I set the plate and glass next to him.

“Sweden.” He offered me one, but I said no. I tried a cigarette once, but couldn’t really get into the taste of it. To me, it tasted sort of like gunpowder. Not pleasant.

“Sweden? When were you in Sweden?”

“That’s where Snape found me. I’d been there for almost a month. It’s the only place where I can blend in.”

“Where were you before?” I sat on the bed and propped up the pillows behind my back.

“Oh gosh, where was I?” Draco said, thinking for a moment. “Let’s see. Alaska was my first stop, then Russia—saw Moscow, the Winter Palace, St. Petersburg—then Japan for about a day, then Brazil, where I nearly got in trouble with a girl, oh, then Kenya, which was too hot, and then I went to Vienna, but I ran into some wizards, so then I went to New York, and finally, Sweden.”

“Wow! You really got around! How did you keep in touch with people?”

“Only Zabini and Snape knew where I was, and that was only a month ago.” He ate some of the sandwich and drank a little pumpkin juice. “This pumpkin juice could use a shot of fire whiskey in it.”

“What did Snape say?”

“I wanted to know how Father was. I had heard rumours that he was out of Azkaban, and I had a feeling Snape might have seen him. And Zabini was one of the wizards I ran into in Vienna. He was with his mum.” Draco’s eyes glazed over again, and I thought he might break down for an ugly moment. He stayed strong this time and looked at me plaintively.

“What?” I asked, stumped by his expression.

“It hurts so much,” he said. Then he looked back out the window, leaning his head against the cool glass pane.

* * * * *

In the late afternoon, McGonagall, Lupin, Shaklebolt and Moody arrived—no Weasleys, no Hermione or Ron. They called for me and Draco to come down to the sitting room for a conference. Shaklebolt directed his first comments to me.

“As you read in the paper today, Darwin, you are suspected of some pretty awful things,” he said. “I am the one who gave this information to the reporter.”

“Why would you lie about him?” Draco asked defencively.

“Because Death Eaters read _The Daily Prophet_ , too. This frees Darwin to spy for us because they will have no idea that one, we know where is, and two, that he’s on our side,” Shaklebolt explained. “All this will get cleared up in time, son.”

Draco bristled at the word “son.”

“We intend to strike at the very heart of their organisation,” Shaklebolt continued, “but we need to do this very carefully. I’d like to weaken the organisation first, but without driving You-Know-Who underground. We must be sure that he remains in the open. That means that we will have to allow him to militate against people somewhat. He must have the confidence to remain out of hiding so that we can strike at him more easily. That is where you and Severus come in, Darwin.”

“As spies?” I asked.

“Exactly,” Shaklebolt replied. He really was magnificent. I could see him as Minister of Magic one day. “Are you ready to enter into this?”

“Yeah, I am,” I said, sounding much braver than I felt. “Whatever it takes.”

“Alestor, Nymphadora, Karl and I are putting into play a series of tactics which will slowly reduce the number of Death Eaters,” he said.

“You mean you’ll kill them?” Draco asked nervously.

“Some perhaps. We will try to take them into custody peacefully,” Tonks replied. “There’s already been far too much death.” 

Draco nodded almost imperceptively. Only Tonks and I caught it.

“Some will be harder to bring in than others,” Moody said. “Your father will be difficult. Lestrange won’t go easily, either. And that damned Pettigrew will be hard to hold onto.”

“This is where you and Severus will be able to help us,” Lupin said to me. “As you continue to eavesdrop on their plans, you will be able to tell us where they are and where they go so that we can be ten steps ahead of them.”

That made sense…except… “Won’t they eventually catch on? Won’t they start to suspect Snape of spying?”

“Severus can take care of himself,” Shaklebolt said pointedly. “He has a great talent for survival. He is the greatest Occlumens of our day.”

“The Dark Lord is the greatest Occlumens of all time!” Draco objected. “Snape always said that!”

“Of course he did!” Shaklebolt retorted. “Do you think he’d let on to anyone about his gift?”

Draco scowled.

“So then what?” I asked, trying to get back to the subject of how I was putting my feathered arse on the line.

“That is not for you to know,” Shaklebolt said sternly. “When it comes time for the final battle, Mr. Potter will need to be surrounded by the very best Aurors we can gather. But your information will be what gets us to that battle, Darwin, so you must be very precise and very fast. I have seen enough of your work to have great confidence in you. I believe we are in good hands.”

Draco nudged me. “Or good wings,” he said.

Tonks smirked.

The sound of the door slamming made us all start. Footsteps. And then…

“Severus!” McGonagall said with relief. “You made it!”

He looked tired and haggard. “Just barely,” he replied. Turning immediately to Draco, he said, “Draco, I’m so sorry about your mother. You have my very deepest sympathy.”

Draco nodded, trying hard not to break down in front of everyone. “Thank you, sir.”

“What exactly happened last night, Severus?” McGonagall asked.

“It was a sneak attack, which is why Lucius did not release the Dark Mark,” Snape explained.

“He had to know Draco was coming to protect Narcissa!” Lupin said. “The Dark Mark would have warded him off.”

We all looked at Draco, wondering.

Snape shook his head. “No. The Dark Mark would have ended his life, isn’t that so, Draco?”

Draco nodded reluctantly.

“Had you seen the Dark Mark over your house, you would have gone after your father, wouldn’t you, knowing what he had just done?”

Draco nodded again. He blushed.

“And you know what your father would have had to do to you, do you not?”

Draco nodded. He looked away.

“Who went with Lucius?” McGonagall asked.

“Bellatrix Lestrange. No one else.”

“So it was a family affair?” I asked, disgusted and ashamed.

“Who killed…my mother?” Draco asked, furious.

Snape sighed heavily. I could tell he didn’t want to say. “Lucius did it himself,” he said.

“Did he enjoy it?” Draco seethed.

Snape shook his head. “No. He didn’t.”

“But he did it anyway,” Draco said, his eyes brimming hot with tears. He lowered his head and wept.

No one could say a word for a little while. Tonks sniffled loudly kept rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

Finally, Draco himself broke the silence. “I want to help,” he said.

“What?” Shaklebolt said, taken aback by the unexpected offer.

“I want to help,” Draco repeated. “If you want information about the Death Eaters, I’ve got tons of it. I’ve grown up with them. I’ve been to their houses, their vacation homes, I know their habits. I know their wives and children, too. I know what pets they have and in some cases, who their Secret Keepers are.”

Shaklebolt looked very pleased, and for the first time, so did Moody.

“Alright, then,” Shaklebolt said. “Darwin, your task right now is to fly straight to their headquarters and spy away. And Severus, you should be getting back, too.”

“I shall, once Mr. Malfoy and I speak together in private,” Snape replied coolly. “Mr. Smith, I shall meet you tonight where we met before. The moment we all adjourn for the night, I shall take what has become my usual midnight stroll. You will follow me and I will provide you with additional information to bring back here.”

So that was that. I transformed back into an owl in front of everyone, hopped toward the window, which Lupin opened for me, and took flight. I decided to fly part of the way to the Death Eaters’ headquarters, mostly because I had a little extra time before they started their proceedings. Plus, I needed to move and fly and feel that thrilling sense of freedom as I soared through the sky at top speed. But mostly, I needed to process everything I had just experienced over the last day—it seemed as if an entire year, or ten years had passed by in a flash—I had to somehow make sense of it all.

One thought that struck me as I went was how complicated my life had become these past few months, and especially these past few days. As brutal and harrowing as my childhood was, there was a sort of simplicity about it. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not pining for the bad old days, not by a long shot. After I ran away, though, even though I was sleeping in alleyways and sort of scrounging for my daily bread, there was a freedom at work. I can still remember how that felt, that first rush of independence. Having a bit of my own money, being able to make my own choices, all of that was very powerful stuff, in spite of the circumstances—or perhaps because of them. They were my first lessons in survival.

As I saw You-Know-Who’s lair just ahead, past the trees, I understood just how much my entire childhood, all of it, had prepared me for this moment. This was serious business.

* * * * *

The sun had already set, but the sky wasn’t completely dark when I arrived. I flew like a shadow through the violet-tinged sky, swooping down into a tall tree near the house. I saw the problem well before I landed—the window where I had perched before to eavesdrop was shut tight.

Damn.

This was not good. I thought about using magic to open it, but that would probably be a bad idea. It would make people suspicious. I could only hope that Snape or someone else would feel a bit stuffy and open the window. There had to be another one that was open, even partially open. I looked up and down the entire side of the house, but saw not a single opening. Now what? My only choice was to…of course! It was a risk, but it just might work…

…In the Death Eaters walked, almost robotically, in casual lines that weren’t quite straight, but organised all the same. I perched up in a tree near the door, watching them all carefully. Fortunately, they were all so engrossed in conversation that no one, including Snape, looked up in my direction at all. Therefore, when the last one entered the room, I hopped down from my low branch and scuttled in, quickly dodging into a side chamber before anyone could spot me. I was pretty sure no one saw a thing.

I heard the door to the house shut heavily and then, all went quiet. That must have been You-Know-Who entering. I could hear his gentle footsteps, and I could hear the footsteps of two others with him. One set sounded strong and proud—maybe my father’s—and the other sounded like a woman—I was sure it was Draco’s aunt Bellatrix.

The side chamber where I found myself couldn’t have been more inconvenient. The room was terribly small and the walls looked like they were very thick. The only reason I could hear the footsteps outside was because the door was partly open, but there was no way I was going to be able to hear the proceedings of their meeting from my vantage point.

And then something truly terrible happened. The door flew open and in walked that little rat-faced man, the court jester I had seen before. He reached out to try and grab me, but I flew up and out of his grasp.

“Come on, owl!” he said in his creepy little voice. “Come on you filthy little germ factory! Out!” He picked up a fireplace poker and jabbed it at me. 

I flew back, barely avoiding its sharp, heavy point. I responded to this attack as only an owl could. I flew high up, nearly grazing the ceiling, and just like that, BAM! Right on top of the man’s ugly head! Bullseye! All that practice on Terry Boot had come in very handy, I must admit. Unfortunately, it also made the man pretty angry, and prompted him to fling the poker right at me. It missed, again, just barely. I flew out of the room and let him chase me down the front hall. I had a plan.

The jester chased me around the corner, through the grand dining room, into a sort of atrium, and finally, into the main meeting hall, still waving the poker at me and screeching obscenities at me. That was truly fun. The other Death Eaters jumped up, shouting at the jester to get rid of the damn owl.

“Let it out!” one Death Eater bellowed. “Before he shits on all of us!”

Another pointed his wand at the window and flung it open. Bingo! I flew up, soared one lap around the hall, just to take in all the angry faces below me, and shot out of the room. Here’s a little confession: I really wanted to bomb You-Know-Who, right on his evil head, but I refrained. He likely would have done an Unforgivable on me, and no one needed that just now. So, I landed in a tree not too close to the house and listened. I thought that You-Know-Who would have demanded that the window be shut again, but thankfully, he didn’t. There it remained, wide open and waiting for my owl ears to take in every word, which I did.

The first to make his report on the day’s activities was Lucius Malfoy, my dear old dad. I had developed a newfound hatred for him, not because I bore any love or regard for Narcissa, but because my father chose to murder his wife and leave her for her son to find, rather than walk away from You-Know-Who. That was beyond cruel. So what if he didn’t kill Draco outright. He killed Draco’s spirit, and that’s far worse than killing the body. So there he was, blabbing on about setting up a task force to infiltrate the Ministry and take over the Auror Office. There was a mole in the Magical Law Enforcement Office who had given my father an earful of information, all of which they were now poised to use. The mole apparently had placed a few in the Law Enforcement Office under the Imperius Curse. These men would now do whatever Lucius told them. That was bad. Really bad.

Next to report was Bellatrix Lestrange, who had lead a detachment of Death Eaters to interfere with a muggle bridge, causing a terrible traffic accident which left two dozen muggles dead. She also was behind a violent rainstorm in the Lake District which caused several lakes and rivers to overflow and cause untold damage to muggle property and roadways. She vowed to continue the attacks until the entire country was helpless and the desperate muggles began to riot against their useless government officials. You-Know-Who was very pleased about that bit of progress.

As the night went on, I heard far more than I ever wanted to know. But as I listened, I gained a real understanding of You-Know-Who’s plan. I saw that it extended far beyond the wizarding world. He didn’t just want to militate against muggle-borns or do away with the Order of the . Phoenix. You-Know-Who wanted the world for himself. He wanted minions and a few million lackeys to do the grunt work for him. As I perched in a nearby branch, feeling ill and terrified, I suddenly knew that he wouldn’t stop until he had achieved every one of his goals. This was beyond madness, beyond the scope of anything I had ever encountered before in my life. The UK would go first, then Europe and Ireland, and then…who knew? As long as You-Know-Who had people like my own father who were willing to put people under the Imperius curse, what chance did the world have?

At the same time, I could see the allure of the Death Eaters, especially to people like my father or my mother or Snape—if I didn’t hate my background so much, I might be tempted, too. They offered power, prestige, a group identity, security of a sort. It was sort of like those muggle gangs you read about, where they prey on people who are particularly vulnerable to their pull. They prey on needy people who have never found peace or satisfaction in regular society. I was sure that was what pulled in Snape—after all, he had intimated to me once that his background and mine weren’t so different. Ironically, it was partly Snape’s influence that was keeping me from becoming fully tempted. Maybe he saw that potential in me long ago. Maybe that’s why he had those little talks with me when I first came to Hogwarts.

He might be a compete tosser sometimes, but a wise tosser. I guess that’s something.

Anyway, this reign of terror had to end, and not just so that I could come out of hiding. This was bigger than me, bigger even than Harry or the Minister or any single individual. I now knew what I needed to do, and as I continued to listen at the window, I braced myself for the battle ahead.


	22. A Risky Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Below, I saw a tempting, juicy rat, but I resisted my owl nature and let the rat be. Finally, it scampered off at the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps. The footsteps grew closer and closer and with a rustle of shrubbery, the figure of Severus Snape emerged into the brief clearing below. I hooted. He looked up to see me, jerked his head quickly to one side, indicating that I should follow him. I did._

Midnight.

All was still at the house. Most of the Death Eaters had departed for the night or retired to their bedrooms at the house, their long summit concluded for the present. I flew to the meeting place to wait for Snape to arrive. For a while I heard nothing but other owls hooting and hunting. Below, I saw a tempting, juicy rat, but I resisted my owl nature and let the rat be. Finally, it scampered off at the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps. The footsteps grew closer and closer and with a rustle of shrubbery, the figure of Severus Snape emerged into the brief clearing below. I hooted. He looked up to see me, jerked his head quickly to one side, indicating that I should follow him. I did.

I watched curiously as he continued to walk, stretching out his arms, wiggling his fingers, taking in the energy of his surroundings. I liked to do that, too, actually—OK, I admit that I got that from him. I hopped down to a lower branch, then lower, then one more even lower, so that we could look at each other nearly eye to eye.

“Muffliato,” Snape whispered, resting on a tree stump. I didn’t know what that meant, but when Snape spoke, he did not bother to whisper. “Do not transform,” he said cautiously.

I stayed put, remaining an owl.

“Did you hear it all?” he asked.

I nodded.

He pulled out a rolled up parchment and tied it to my leg. “Take this directly to Kingsley Shaklebolt. He will know what to do. Do not stop and do not try to read this.”

I nodded.

“The Dark Lord has placed charms on this property so that no one can apparate in or out of it. You will need to fly to the edge of the property, therefore, and then disapparate. Go straight to the safehouse. Is that clear?”

I nodded.

“When you return in the morning, you will pose directly as my own owl. Pettigrew is growing suspicious of my nocturnal walks, and now that you got on his bad side, I will need to take the situation in hand.”

Was he mental? That was the stupidest idea I had ever heard! I was dying to say something, to protest and say that I thought that was a really bad idea, but I didn’t. Remaining an owl seemed more important now. I resolved to take it up with Shaklebolt at the safehouse.

“You will return here no later than seven in the morning,” Snape directed me. “Now go, and quickly.”

I took off, grazing the top of his greasy head with the tips of my wings. That was the only protest I could manage just then. He’d likely make me pay for that, but I didn’t care. What was he thinking? If I posed as his own owl, how could I freely come and go? It seemed far too risky. And plus, what if You-Know-Who figured out that I was an Animagus? What then? I knew I was a good Occlumens, but I also knew that he was a brilliant Legilimens. I didn’t know if my skills were up to the challenge.

At the edge of the property, I found a little ditch, and from there, I disapparated, straight back to the safehouse in London. By the time I flew in the window, a huge number of people had gathered there, waiting for my news. Harry was there, too. Shaklebolt took the note off my leg, and then I transformed back to myself before a stunned audience. I got the sickening feeling that a lot of these people were Aurors who were seeking to arrest me and toss me in Azkaban for the rest of my life.

Shaklebolt finished Snape’s letter and then handed it to McGonagall, who read it and handed it to Karl. With military precision, Shaklebolt gave direct orders to every Auror in the packed room—Smythe to the south, Richardson to the west, Morse to Cambridge, and so on. Each Auror would track a specific Death Eater and arrest them. But before they left, Shaklebolt had a few more things to say.

“I am sure you are all shocked to see Darwin Smith here,” he said to his Aurors. Many nodded and murmured amongst themselves. “Mr. Smith has been under our protection since Severus Snape rescued him from Malfoy Manor in early July. He is working with us now as a spy, and it is thanks to the intelligence he and Severus gathered that we are able to undertake this final mission.”

I felt an urge to speak. “May I interrupt you for a moment, sir?” I asked.

All eyes fell on me, wondering, I suppose, what I was going to say.

“Snape told me tonight that he wants me to pose as his own owl. Don’t you think that’s too risky?” I said, sounding very sure of myself. I was so sure Shaklebolt would agree with me.

But he stunned me with his reply. “I think that’s a brilliant idea!” he exclaimed.

“We really should have thought of it before,” McGonagall echoed.

What? McGonagall agreed? Did they all want me to get killed?

“It makes perfect sense,” Tonks said.

Great. They all agreed. Woo-fucking-hoo. I was a dead man.

“But surely the Dark…I mean, You-Know-Who will figure out that I’m an Animagus,” I protested.

“If you use Occlumency, he won’t,” Shaklebolt said.

“But…” I started.

“You’re an excellent Occlumens, Darwin,” Tonks said. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re very talented.”

This was not what I wanted to hear just then. Normally, I would relish any compliment, considering I got so few compliments, especially regarding my inconsistent magical abilities. This was a perfect job for someone like Hermione, someone who was self-assured and in complete control. Of course, she wasn’t an Animagus. OK, I admit it. I was just scared shitless. You-Know-Who is pretty terrifying from a distance, but being in the same room as he gave me the chills.

“But what’s the benefit of my being in there?” I asked. “Doesn’t that create a greater risk of both of us being exposed?”

“Not if you keep your mind shut,” Lupin said. “Severus wouldn’t have suggested this if he didn’t have complete faith in your abilities. There are very few people he trusts, especially with his life, so take heart. You can do this, Darwin. His trust says a lot about your abilities.”

Harry snorted audibly. I hadn’t seen Harry in a long time, and I must say, he looked very well. I think he had gotten taller. He looked robust and…well…tough. In fact, he looked like he’d been to the gym or something. I knew he hadn’t. Actually, I had no idea what he was doing. Hermione never mentioned it, and neither did McGonagall. I suppose it was all hush-hush. At any rate, he looked healthy and strong and ready to take on just about anything. I sort of wished he were an Animagus so he could be Snape’s personal owl. But no such luck. I worried that Snape might poison my owl treats or something.

“Being in that house will give you access to everything, every document, every plan, every secret conversation. There’s no way you could be privy to that from the window,” Karl explained.

The man had a point. And actually, the thought sneaking about in the dark shadows did sort of appeal to me. I don’t know if that was from my mother’s nature or if I was just curious. Either way, I was starting to become more convinced that this might be a good idea.

* * * * *

I returned to the house at 6:45, and right at the spot where Snape had indicated. The air was foggy and cold as I perched in the tree. Below, I couldn’t see much through the fog. One thing I did see was another rat. It was running along the path in the grove, and then it looked all around itself, finally looking up in my direction. Then, it scampered into the bushes and disappeared. Only the glint of something shiny caught my eye as it went. I thought that strange. Why should something glint off a rat? What could that…

Oh my gods. I suddenly remembered something I had seen when the jester had thrown that poker at me. I flew off the branch and made my way through the grove, hoping to spot Snape before he reached the designated spot. I looked everywhere for his tall, powerful figure. I used all my senses to try and feel his energy, which I supposed was tremendous. I thought frantically. __Where the hell are you?_ _ Then I heard it, off in the distance. A man’s footsteps. I rushed toward it and there, nearing the clearing, was Snape. I flew over his head so that he saw me, but then I flew on, hooting at him to follow. He frowned and followed.

I flew toward the end of the grove, landed and with a talon, scratched the word “RAT” in the dirt, then I flew up, perching on a low branch. Snape arrived, looked down at the word I had written and erased it with his foot. He looked up at me and nodded, as if he understood my warning.

“Muffliato,” he said. I still didn’t know what that meant. “Phantom, fly to my bedroom and transform. We need to talk.” And then he walked away, slowly and deliberately.

I did as I was told, hoping my identity hadn’t been discovered. Finding Snape’s room was easy. His was the one with nothing in it but a bed, a pile of books, a bowl of apples, a brandy snifter and a teacup. I used magic to open his window, and once inside, I quickly shut the window. I remained an owl, however, until Snape entered the room ten minutes later. He shut the door and locked it. I transformed into myself.

“Muffliato,” he said quietly. I gave him a quizzical look. “That’s so we can’t be heard,” he explained.

I stretched out my arms and legs, careful to stay away from the window.

“Sit on the floor, in the corner,” he said. “No one will see you there.” I sat. “When did you see Pettigrew?” he asked.

“Quarter to seven, at our meeting place,” I replied. I’d heard that name before. Pettigrew.

“Damn,” Snape grumbled. “The little shit may be on to us. He does not, however, know that you are an Animagus, but merely that I might be sending messages via owl post. That is not entirely bad.”

“I shouldn’t have bombed him,” I said glumly.

“No, you should have,” Snape replied. He gave me a nearly imperceptible wink. “Was Potter at the safehouse?”

“Yeah. The whole Auror Office was there. Shaklebolt told them to lay off me.”

“Good. Your schedule will be a bit erratic for a while, so I suggest you use the morning hours to get some sleep. You’ll be listening all night and traveling back and forth to London, as well.”

“What’s my main role, then?”

He narrowed his eyes at me dangerously. “To keep your ears open and your mind shut. The Dark Lord will likely put you to the test when he first sees you. He will want to make sure you really are an owl.”

“So what do I do?” I shuddered with horror.

“Use Occlumency. Keep him completely outside of your mind.”

“What if I can’t?”

He glared at me. “You can. You have to or we’re both dead and all of this will be for nothing. I brought you in because I trust you, Smith.”

I nodded. “Right, sir. I’ll do it.”

“How’s your brother?”

“He’s managing, sir. He’s in a lot of pain right now. But he’s also helping the Order.”

Snape smirked. “He’s got crucial information. I hope they have the sense to use it.”

“Sir?” I asked. “What’s your story? About me, I mean?”

“Let me worry about that, Smith. All you need to do is be an owl and use Occlumency and listen to absolutely everything. If you can do that, everything will be just fine.” He sat at the table and poured some tea into his teacup from his wand. He did not offer anything to me. “For the present, Smith, you will remain outside. I won’t bring you in just yet. I will walk to the far edge of the pond tonight, where I will capture you, place you in a cage and bring you back here.”

Another cage? Great. I was starting to prefer the Owlery at Hogwarts.

I transformed back to an owl and flew out the window, ready to get a little exercise and take a nap. I had to be ready for a long night of eavesdropping. I flew high up into the sky, over the treetops, just circling for a little while. I’d dip down and then shoot straight up, just playing in the air, testing my skills and my control. It all gave me the freedom to think, to clear my mind of anything that might betray me later. I needed all my faculties working in prime condition, considering that I would have to come face-to-face with You-Know-Who in a matter of time.

How would all this change me, after it was finished? We all had our roles to accomplish and our battles to fight, but once it was done, then what? I knew that a lot of us had already changed tremendously, just in a few short months of serious crisis. In fact, when I look back at myself before all this started, I feel like I’m looking at a child with little to no resemblance to myself now. I think that’s what war and strife does to a person, whether he be wizard or muggle. You can’t help but change drastically. That basic human need to survive trumps all else, and if nothing else, it reveals to you what is most important. That’s what happened to me and I think, to my brother as well. He and I spent a lot of years fighting and bullying each other and giving each other hell, and yet when we really needed each other as brothers, we both stepped up to the challenge.

* * * * *

The pond’s waters were cool and clean and glassy. I wished a little that I could transform back to myself and jump in and take a swim. I doubted very much that there were any merpeople in there. Of course, this was a pond on You-Know-Who’s property, so anything could have been in that water, including Inferi. I decided to stay out. I found a branch high up toward the top of a thick tree, where I could perch in the shade and get a little rest. A few little bugs crawled along the branch, so I nipped at them with my beak. I know that sounds disgusting. Actually, they tasted pretty good, much better than the rubbish I ate when I lived on the street. Who was I to complain? After my little snack, I shut my eyes and fell asleep.

The sound of men’s voices woke me up. I looked all around and down, only to see two men standing way down below, talking in animated tones. One was angry and the other was rather calm and nonchalant. I scooted a little farther into the shade to avoid being seen, but it also gave me a good view of who was below. I blanched at the sight of what was obviously my father’s blond head and the ratty little head of Pettigrew. What could those two possibly want, and why were they here, right under my tree? I hoped it was only a coincidence.

“What is your point, Wormtail?” my father asked, obviously bored and irritated. What the hell kind of a name was Wormtail? Oh yes, that whole rat thing. No wonder the man had issues.

“The point is, Malfoy, that I think he’s up to something! He’s been coming out here every night, and I could swear I saw him talking to someone!” Pettigrew replied angrily.

“But did you hear him?”

Pettigrew hesitated. “Well, no.”

“Which means that you are either paranoid or delusional, don’t you think?”

“I think he’s in contact with someone on the outside!”

“Such as?”

Again, Pettigrew hesitated.

“You don’t know?” my father asked haughtily. “One day, Wormtail, you will learn to spend more time on the Dark Lord’s business and less on the private affairs of Severus Snape, or anyone else for that matter. Severus Snape has proven his loyalty to the Dark Lord, and that should be enough for any of us. In fact, it seems that all of us, except you, have paid some personal price in fealty to the Dark Lord.”

“What do you mean, except me?” Pettigrew snapped. “Dammit, Malfoy, I paid my price long ago, when you were too busy pretending to be a good little boy for the Ministry! And look where all your pretending got you! That disgrace of a son of yours—oh wait, you’ve got two disgraceful sons—is nothing but a foul traitor and a coward, and all you can do in recompense is to kill your own wife!”

OK, that was pretty low. I have no great, abiding love for my father, but that is something I never would have said to him on my worst day. Even Snape wouldn’t have said that. Even You-Know-Who wouldn’t have said that. Well, maybe You-Know-Who would have.

Nonetheless, a fiery fury erupted in my father, and the next thing I knew, he had whipped out his wand and shouted, “Crucio!” Light tore out of his wand and engulfed Pettigrew, who shrieked in horror and pain as he fell to the ground, twitching and jerking violently. After a very long minute of this torture, my father lifted his wand and advanced on a now cowering Pettigrew. He knelt down over him and whispered something to him which I could not hear, but which I supposed was a very serious threat.

You had to admit, the guy had that one coming. Actually, I had never seen the Cruciatus curse done on a person before—only on that engorged spider of Moody’s, and that was pretty terrifying. Even from the great height at which I was perched, I could see the pain in Pettigrew’s body and hear the fear and agony in his cries for mercy. I wanted to shout out to my father to stop, but I couldn’t. I wanted to hoot as loudly as I could, but I didn’t. I didn’t want anyone to know I was there. So all I could do was let it happen.

My father put his wand away. “I expect I have made myself clear, have I not?” he said rather arrogantly. What a bastard.

Pettigrew nodded.

“Get up off the ground, Wormtail,” my father said. “Stand up like a man.”

Pettigrew obeyed shakily and together, they returned in the direction of the house, almost as if nothing had happened. All I could do was sit there and tremble. I wondered if Draco ever had to go through this with him. Any sentiment that I had held for my father now disappeared entirely. I now understood what McGonagall had indicated to me before about him. I felt foolish for having fallen for those photographs. What was I thinking?

It was now impossible to go back to sleep. The best I could muster was a little rest. But that horrible scene I had just witnessed threatened to undo me completely. How was I supposed to clear my mind and close my mind with such visions assaulting my memory? It seemed nearly impossible. I was thankful, therefore, that Snape wasn’t going to bring me into the house until the following day. I just hoped that it would give me enough time to clear everything away in my head.

Night fell and once again, just as before, the mass of Death Eaters arrived for the nightly summit, presumably to review the day’s activities and to plot their next steps. I hunted down a quick dinner, hoping this would be the last time I’d have to do that, and flew off toward the house to listen in on the proceedings.

More of the same. A muggle building would be attacked, and a muggle roadway would be blown up. A Ministry witch would be kidnapped and tortured—I paid special attention to that one—and the Minister’s undersecretary, Percy Weasley, would be Imperiused in order to have him steal documents from the Minister. I remembered Percy quite well. He was Head Boy during my Third Year. He was a bit of a fusspot, but a pretty good bloke nonetheless.

At the pond that night, Snape put us under the Muffliato charm. His face was intense and grave.

“I want you to be back in one hour. No later.” The cage rested nearby. I looked at it with apprehension, but with resolve, too.

The scene at the safehouse was no less exciting, and it got even more so when I delivered the news about the Ministry witch and about Percy Weasley. Molly actually screamed and burst into tears when I delivered the news.

“When do you need to be back?” Shaklebolt asked.

“Now. He only gave me an hour. He’s going to put me in a cage and pretend that he’s hunted me down.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Figures,” he said.

“Things are escalating at a faster pace than I anticipated,” Shaklebolt said, “which means that you will need to give us even more information than before.”

“But I’m giving you everything that I’ve heard,” I said.

“We need more than that,” Moody said. “We’ll need you to read documents, find out specific plans before You-Know-Who gives them to his Death Eaters.”

“But where do I…” I started.

“Severus will have to tell you,” McGonagall said. “None of us know the layout of that house.”

“Actually, Professor,” Harry broke in, “that brings up something else. I’ll need to know precisely the layout of the house. I need to know where they meet, who sleeps where and who leaves, and most importantly, which room is Voldemort’s.”

I hate it when he says the name. Gives me the creeps, especially now that I’ve seen the man.

“I don’t have time for that tonight,” I said apologetically, “but tomorrow maybe. It all depends on how much time Snape gives me. But right now, I really need to get back so I can get caged up.”

“Good luck, Darwin,” Lupin said.

“See you tomorrow, hopefully,” I replied. I transformed back to an owl and flew away, back to the lair of the Dark Lord.

* * * * *

The plan was bloody brilliant, I had to admit, even if the cage was a pain in the arse. I neglected to tell Snape about my claustrophobia, mostly because I knew he wouldn’t care. I’d just have to suck it up and be a man—or an owl. The cage was smaller than McGonagall’s, but wasn’t too bad. When I returned from the safehouse, Snape immediately placed me inside and proceeded ceremoniously into the house, only to be greeted at the door by Pettigrew.

“What’s that you got there, Snape?” he asked viciously.

Snape gave him a sarcastic glower. I wish I could have laughed. “What do you suppose it is, Wormtail? A goat?”

“Where did you find it?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Outside, naturally. That’s where owls come from.” His voice was pandering and snide. It was beautiful. For once, he wasn’t directing that tone of voice at me.

“Is that the one you’ve been sending around these past few days?” Pettigrew demanded.

Snape raised his eyebrows in mock alarm. “Yes, Wormtail, I told the Ministry all about how it crapped on your bony head. I thought it should be rewarded for work well done.” And with that, he walked onward and up to his room.

Severus Snape is a genius.


	23. The Evil Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You-Know-Who rose from his chair at the head of the table and came over to take a closer look at me. This was my big moment. Everything was riding on how I handled myself for the next few minutes..._

Whenever I pass by a pet shop, I have this instinctive desire to open all the birdcages and free every bird I possibly can. I’ve never actually done that, of course, but let’s just say I know how they feel being caged up like that. The instinct of any bird is to fly free, to be able to hunt and play and mate and eat bugs at will. My situation was a little different, but I still felt that sense of entrapment, all caged up in Snape’s dark room. Unlike McGonagall, who let me have a modicum of freedom, within all those rules, Snape didn’t give me an inch. I know the situation was more dangerous with him, but I would have appreciated a few minutes of freedom to fly about and be an owl.

Oh well.

That first day when he brought me inside, it was all about work and appearances. After giving me a long and harsh lecture about Occlumency, Snape unlocked the cage and had me perch on his shoulder. This was a lot closer than I ever wanted to get to the man’s greasy hair. Anthony, Michael and I used to spare no expense finding new ways to describe the oil field that was Severus Snape’s hair. I once made up a story that muggles wanted to mine his hair to find new reserves of petrol for their automobiles. Anthony said there was once an OPEC war over possession of Snape’s hair. Michael maintained that Snape could never drown because you would be able to spot the oil slick on top of the water and rescue him—that is, IF you wanted to rescue him. That remained doubtful, especially after he set us so much homework.

To be honest, in spite of the oily hair, Severus Snape is actually the most immaculately, meticulously clean individual I have ever met. His fingernails were groomed, his eyebrows combed, his robes perfectly pressed and arrayed. I was impressed. I usually looked fairly slovenly, at least by comparison. I mean, I showered every day, like anyone, but I never really paid much attention to the little details. Who really cares if your robes are a little wrinkled? It never bothered me one whit. This was just another reason to feel inferior to him. I felt like a schlump.

We entered the grand hall, where Bellatrix Lestrange, my father and Pettigrew were lounging with You-Know-Who, casually eating breakfast and chatting about something evil. I noticed how little You-Know-Who ate, and how precise he was in all his movements, from the way he felt the air with his fingertips to the exhaustive and consistent watch he held over every slightest movement in the room, both visible and invisible. It took everything I possessed to suppress the sheer terror I now felt as Snape and I approached the long table. He picked up a plate from the sideboard and filled it with eggs, bacon, roasted potatoes, slices of tomato. I wondered if I was going to get any of this. My empty stomach rumbled enviously.

“Well, Severus,” You-Know-Who said silkily, “I see you finally have a friend.”

Pettigrew snorted and giggled like a little girl.

“Calm yourself, Wormtail,” my father said. “You’ll make a mess.”

You-Know-Who raised his eyebrows. “I believe this is the owl that left you a little something, isn’t it, Wormtail?” he said with relish.

Pettigrew flushed.

Snape sat down at the table, letting me hop off his shoulder. I stood next to his plate, keeping my mind tightly shut. “You are quite right, my lord,” he said compliantly. “I have been searching for this owl ever since then. I felt it had great potential.” He placed a roasted potato at my feet. I ate it gratefully—it tasted wonderful. Snape gave me another piece, and a little egg.

Now Bellatrix snorted and laughed. Actually, she sort of cackled. It was really annoying. Pettigrew flushed a deeper shade of red.

You-Know-Who rose from his chair at the head of the table and came over to take a closer look at me. This was my big moment. Everything was riding on how I handled myself for the next few minutes. I shut my mind even tighter, suppressing all my fears as deep down as I could. I breathed slowly, deeply as he spread out his talon-like hands as if to search for any wizard energy coming from me. I was sure that Snape was using Occlumency as desperately as I was. I was sure he was just as scared as I was, too.

“He’s a real beauty, Severus,” You-Know-Who said softly, looking carefully at me. “A black owl such as this is a rarity. Look at his eyes.” And then he did it—the thing I most dreaded. I fought the urge to shake as he looked directly into my eyes with his own, evil eyes. I shut my mind even tighter, suppressed my terror even more desperately. My heart pounded so hard I swear even Pettigrew could sense it.

Snape looked positively calm and collected. Honestly, I had no idea how he did it. How could he bear to be in the presence of such intense evil and keep his dinner down? It was truly extraordinary.

“Are his eyes brown or amber?” You-Know-Who asked, stroking my feathers. His touch was disturbingly light and pleasant.

“I believe brown, actually,” Snape replied off-handedly.

You-Know-Who looked again with wonder. What was he seeing? “They’re magical,” he whispered. “Such depth. This is an extraordinary animal, Severus. I trust it shall be quite useful to us in future.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Snape replied.

You-Know-Who resumed his place at the head of the table to finish his breakfast. That did not mean, however, that I could sit back and relax. As long as I was in the same room as You-Know-Who, even in the same house, I had to maintain a very high level of Occlumency. I had no idea how sensitive he was to the magic around him, so I had to protect myself at all times. I also had to protect Snape. Like he said, if I cocked this up, we were both dead.

“In fact, Severus,” You-Know-Who said, “I believe we should use him tonight, to warn our agents in the south of the possible presence of Aurors in the area. As you well know, seven Death Eaters have been arrested by the Ministry these last two days. That is far too many.”

“You may use Phantom as you wish, my lord,” Snape said. “Whatever it takes to protect our interests.”

Where was he going with this one? Was I now working as a double agent? What did Snape now expect from me?

I got to abandon those troubled thoughts for a short while after breakfast. Snape let me out for some exercise while he conducted further secret business with You-Know-Who, Bellatrix, Pettigrew and my father. I briefly considered taking matters into my own hands and apparating straight to London to warn the Order of impending danger, but I refrained. I didn’t want to interfere with plans that Snape might already be hatching. I honestly had no idea what I was doing, so any false move, even well-intentioned, might spell disaster for all of us. Instead, I flew and hunted for more bugs and played and even dipped my talons in the pond. After a couple of hours of this, I retired to Snape’s room for a little nap in my cage.

Snape woke me up—at least I thought it was Snape rattling my cage. I slowly opened my bleary eyes, only to see the nasty, pinched face of Pettigrew, jiggling the door of the cage open.

“Come on, little birdie,” he chirped. “Come to daddy!” He wrenched the door wide open and thrust his hand inside to pull me out. I reacted naturally—I bit him hard on the hand, making him yelp in pain. “You little piece of shit!” he growled. “Come here!”

Pettigrew grabbed me by the talons, jerked me hard out of the cage, and flung me hard against the wall, head first. I landed in a heap on the floor, hooting loudly as he reached down to jerk me up again by the left wing, which broke in his strong grip. I scratched his face with my talons, cutting his face, then I tried to fly up and out of his way—it was no good. I was too badly injured. My only defence was to screech as loud as I could. I screeched again and again and again, still fighting him off and scratching frantically at him until at long last, Snape and my father burst into the room, wands out.

“Pettigrew!” Snape bellowed. “Stupefy!” A light shot out of Snape’s wand, sending Pettigrew crashing into the wall.

Lucius grabbed Pettigrew by the back of the robes and jerked him to his feet. “What are you doing?” he shouted.

Snape saw that I was injured. “Shit! Come here, Phantom.” I flew to him feebly, landing on the table. My left wing throbbed painfully. Snape looked me over. “Dammit, he’s injured. I’ll have to deal with this, Lucius. Just get that THING out of my sight!”

Footsteps in the corridor, and then two more people—Bellatrix and You-Know-Who himself, bounding angrily into the room. I thought You-Know-Who’s head would explode right then and there, which wouldn’t have been a bad thing. They had obviously been interrupted from something vitally important. He looked furiously at Pettigrew struggling against my father, and at Snape cradling me in his arms as he checked over my injuries.

“What is going on here?” he demanded, his voice icy. I shut my mind tight again.

“Pettigrew, in his sheer brilliance, took it upon himself to injure Snape’s owl, actually, sir,” my father reported. Pettigrew struggled harder.

You-Know-Who glared at Pettigrew. “This is a curious development, Wormtail, particularly as I had just expressed my wish to use this very owl tonight. Do you question my judgement, Wormtail?” he asked menacingly.

Pettigrew shook like a leaf. I was pretty sure he would piss in his pants at any moment. I wouldn’t blame him, actually. I was ready to let go myself. But then, You-Know-Who did something I had never seen before. He pulled out his wand and conjured up a very small cage. Very small.

“You have become a detriment to our little family, Wormtail,” he began.

“Sir, let me explain!” Pettigrew blubbered.

“Do NOT interrupt me!” You-Know-Who sniped. “I have expressed a wish, and you have seen fit to defy my wish. Until I decide further, you will be spending a little time in here.” He tapped the cage so that the door swung open.

“No, sir,” Pettigrew begged. “Please…”

You-Know-Who pointed his wand directly at Pettigrew—I thought he would use an Unforgivable on him or a reduction charm. But with a flick of his wand and some inaudible incantation, he caused Pettigrew to transform into his Animagus form—a rat. My father then picked up the rat and tossed it into the cage with a thump, shutting the door and locking it tight.

As relieved as I was to be rid of the threat Pettigrew posed, I have to admit that doing that to him was cruel. It also frightened me—if You-Know-Who could make Pettigrew take on his Animagus form, he could likely get me to take on my own, wizard form. That was the very last thing I wanted.

“Lucius, take this somewhere dark and cold and leave it,” You-Know-Who ordered calmly. “Oh yes, do give it some food. We don’t want a dead rat on our hands.” My father obediently picked up the caged rat and disappeared with it.

You-Know-Who came over to see how I was. I shut my eyes and my mind as he looked at my quavering body. “He needs a Healer,” he said. “Severus, I believe you know many. Take care of this right away, even if you have to leave him behind for a short while. Return to us before the summit tonight.” He looked into my eyes again. I hooted in pain. He patted my head and stroked my feathers as if he were suddenly a loving father. It was really weird.

Snape inclined his head deferentially. “I should be back in two or three hours, my lord.”

* * * * *

“We’ll need to keep him here for a day or two, Severus,” Shaklebolt said. “Sorry about this.”

Snape sat at the kitchen table at the safehouse and took another drink from his teacup. “You didn’t cause this, Kingsley,” he said. “It was that ridiculous Pettigrew who did it.”

I sat at the table with Snape, Shaklebolt, Tonks, Draco and Harry, my newly healed arm wrapped securely in bandages. Like any abused kid, I’ve had more broken arms than I have arms. But I forgot how much a broken arm hurt. When I was in Care, I used to get what they called “spiral fractures,” which are caused when some big, mean adult grips your arm so tight and hard that when you struggle to get away, your arm breaks in a spiral form. I had a lot of those.

“Why do you think he wanted to attack Darwin?” Tonks asked, pouring more tea for everyone.

“Pettigrew has been very suspicious of me for a long time,” Snape replied. “Now that the pressure has been on these last several months, Pettigrew is even more paranoid. He’s been following a lot of people, not just me. He’s been following Lucius as well.”

“Why?” Shaklebolt asked. “Lucius supposedly proved himself when he killed the coven.”

Draco started at that, but said nothing. Harry looked away.

“How did it go with You-Know-Who, Darwin?” Tonks asked me.

“It was the worst five minutes of my life,” I said. My arm itched under the bandage.

“He performed perfectly,” Snape said. “Pettigrew may have his suspicions about you, Smith, but I don’t think he has any idea you’re a wizard. His suspicions are in relation to me. His attack on you was probably to put me out of favour with the Dark Lord, more than anything else.”

“I thought he was going to kill me,” I said. “If you hadn’t come in, I was ready to transform and beat the hell out of him.”

“Then I’m glad Lucius and I came in when we did. You were right to sound the alarm.” Snape stood up. “Well, I need to get back. Remember, Kingsley, don’t go grabbing every Death Eater all at once. The Dark Lord is very suspicious right now. He intends to warn his agents of your presence, so tread discreetly. No arrests for three more days. That will give Potter some time, as well.” He turned to me. “Smith, I’ll be back for you in two days. Be ready for a major offencive.”

Major offencive? What was that? He sounded like some sort of military general barking out orders. Either way, two days away from that house of horrors was just fine with me. After I had given all my information to the Aurors and took a little rest, I spent some time catching up with Draco and Harry. Without any explanation to me, it seemed that the two of them had somehow reconciled, or at least called a brief truce. I was glad for both of them. This was no time for old, extinct arguments. Like Draco, Harry had traveled far and wide, mostly looking for what he termed “vital information” on You-Know-Who. Apparently he had found everything he needed and now was just waiting for me and Snape to give him the green light to go in and finish off You-Know-Who for good. That’s why everything was so dicey and precarious right now. One wrong move could ruin everything.

That information alone, ironically, made me want to get back into the action. I wanted this thing to be over so we could all get back to the semblance of a real life. I wanted to spend my last term at school, like everyone else. I wanted to see Padma again, too, more than anything. It was strange, thinking about her, tucked safely away at Hogwarts while all this was going on. I wondered if she knew any of this. I wondered if Neville knew what was about to happen. I wondered if I would survive these next few days and if I would ever see Padma or Neville again.

* * * * *

When I returned to You-Know-Who’s house, I was given license to fly about and regain my strength. This afforded me the perfect opportunity to fly from room to room, finally getting a good sense of the layout of the place. The house was positively huge—I had no idea to whom it belonged. I supposed it belonged to one of the Death Eaters. Either way, there were many rooms to explore, and explore I did. Most of the day, You-Know-Who was in one meeting after the next, and people sort of came and went at all hours. Many of these people I didn’t recognise from any of the summit meetings. These must have been the agents. Each looked scarier and more fierce than the previous, particularly this one Death Eater who was extremely large and muscular. Then I recongised him—he was the one guarding the Room of Requirement the day I escaped from Hogwarts. He was the one I knocked over! Unfortunately, he looked well-recovered.

First, I circled the perimeter of the house, looking in windows to see who slept where. Next door to Snape was my father, and next to him was Dolohov. Next to him was Bellatrix, and next to her, on the other end of the corridor on the third floor of the house, was You-Know-Who’s bedchamber. I didn’t stop long to look inside, but what I did see was unimpressive. Snape’s room was pretty bare, but You-Know-Who’s was even more Spartan. All I could see was a bed and a plain brown box. I had no idea what was in the box. It sat at the foot of the bed. There was literally nothing else in there—not even a change of clothes! Spooky.

Inside the house, I pretended to play and romp like a good little owl. I fluttered into the study on the ground floor, where some of the meetings had taken place. Splayed out on the large desk were rolls of parchment, all different. Some were lists of names of people to be eliminated, or people to be kidnapped or Imperiused. Another parchment I saw was a timeline, detailing the takeover of the muggle Houses of Parliament. Before I could look on, the door handle turned. I flew up and circled about in the air, far away from the parchments I had just read. I squawked and pretended to play again as a female Death Eater came in to check over one of the lists. She looked up at me and smiled.

I quickly flew out the open door and down the corridor, ducking in the next open door I found. This room was a library, much like the Malfoys’, except larger. Four cauldrons were on the floor, bubbling away. I didn’t recongise any of the potions inside, but I memorised what they looked and smelled like, knowing the Aurors would be able to identify them based on the description. I flew out the door and back to the grand hall, where the long breakfast table had been replaced by rows and rows of heavy wooden chairs. Another summit meeting tonight. I would have to be ready to carry a message to a Death Eater, waiting in some remote location to kill an innocent person. I perched on one of the chairs and hooted. I turned my head all the way around, surveying my surroundings.

At first, I thought I was alone. But I wasn’t.

Out of nowhere, You-Know-Who approached me, a rolled up parchment in hand. I stuck out my leg for him. He stroked my feathers again and nuzzled the side of my head. “That’s my pretty owl,” he whispered, giving me little butterfly kisses. I shut my mind as tightly as I could. “Go on, take this to Greyback.”

Greyback? The werewolf? Oh gods.

There was no time to check with Snape, and besides, he couldn’t do a thing about it. There was no way he could forbid me to go, even though I’m certain he didn’t want me anywhere near that monster. And so I flew, but not directly to Greyback. Safely outside the property, I quickly apparated to the safehouse, straight to Shaklebolt. I untied the note and transformed.

“Don’t open it,” I said in a panic. “It’s for Greyback.”

“Who’s sending you…” Shaklebolt started.

“You-Know-Who is. What do I do? Do I go?”

“Of course you go! You’d better get there fast!”

“I got the layout of the house, and I’ve got scads of information for you.” I would rather have stayed and dished out all I knew, but Shaklebolt refused to hear me.

“Tell us later,” he said urgently. “You’ve got to get to Greyback right away!”

“He won’t eat me, will he?”

Shaklebolt laughed. “No, Darwin, he won’t. But You-Know-Who will be very angry if you’re late with a response. Now go!”

Finding Fenrir Greyback was easy enough. We owls are charmed to find anyone. But my fear of becoming a giant owl treat was what really made me nervous. Draco told me things about him that still make me shudder in horror. I understood very well why my brother was so afraid of werewolves. Can you imagine growing up in a house where your own parents regularly had a vicious monster like Greyback to Sunday dinner? Unbelievable.

I approached Greyback carefully, perching at a safe distance and hooting for him to come out of his shack so I could give him the note. Silence. Damn. Don’t tell me he wasn’t there. My owl sense told me he was, so where was he? I hooted again. The shack was more of a pit, really, deep in the woods, surrounded by a stinking bog that smelled like rubbish. The stench practically choked me, it was so strong. The door creaked open ominously. I supposed that meant I should come inside.

I hopped forward, but just then, he emerged, in all his monstrous hideousness. I shut my mind tight, in case he was a Legilimens. He licked his lips hungrily when he saw me timidly approach him, tremulously sticking out my leg with the note attached to it. I hoped he wouldn’t rip it off like a drumstick and stick me on the grill.

Greyback unrolled the parchment and read it, growling under his foul breath. He grinned wickedly, baring razorlike, yellow teeth—he was like a cartoon character, except that he was terrifyingly real. Those teeth looked very sharp. I thought sadly of poor Lupin. If I were attacked as an owl, I wondered what sort of transformation I would make at the full moon—would I be some sort of vicious were-owl? Silly thought. That’s what happens when I get really stressed or really afraid. I go all goofy. Anyway, Greyback wrote a nice, big YES on the back of the parchment, rolled it back up and tied it to my leg.

I flew away as fast as my newly healed wings would carry me, back to You-Know-Who. You know it’s bad when you’d rather be around him than around Greyback.

As it happened, I returned just in time. You-Know-Who was about two minutes away from becoming irritated with me, but when they all saw me soar in the high window and land obediently on the arm of his chair, I sensed his pleasure. I shut my mind as he untied the note and read Greyback’s reply. He grinned wickedly.

“I have good news,” he announced to the assembly. “I have just received word from our dear friend, Fenrir Greyback, that he and his top associates will arrive tomorrow afternoon for our preparations.”

Everyone cheered and applauded, including Snape.

“What this means, my friends,” You-Know-Who continued, “is that by the end of the week, the muggle world will be entirely under our control. With that done, the Ministry of Magic will fall easily. As we know, the Ministry can only thrive when the muggle world is in order. The disarray will be the Ministry’s downfall. All we’ll need to concern ourselves with after that is Hogwarts, and I do not forsee that as a serious problem…”

And so on they planned, well into the night. I perched dutifully at You-Know-Who’s side, taking in every word, locking it safely in the darkest, most concealed corners of my mind.


	24. The Final Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A strange silence hung in the night air. At first, I could see no light coming from inside the house, but then, a creepy blue glow emerged—I trembled. I could hear lots of hissing going on, as if a bunch of snakes had suddenly converged on the place and were sounding off together. And then, one echoing the other in rapid fire:_
> 
> _“AVADA KEDAVRA!”_
> 
> _“AVADA KEDAVRA!”_

I told them everything, every detail, every name I saw and every plan they had. I told them about the brown box at You-Know-Who’s bedside, and about the four cauldrons. I also told them about Greyback. Again, it seemed like the entire Auror office, plus the entire Order of the Phoenix was present in that safehouse as I spoke. Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic, was present as well. The pressure was pretty daunting, though I felt relieved to be away from those Death Eaters. Being around all that evil was really depressing. It must have taken me two hours to relate all I had seen and heard during my short time there, and I was eager to know what the next stage would be.

“It’s all up to Harry, now,” Shaklebolt said. “You’ll need to go in fast and get this done before Greyback has a chance to move against the muggles. I’m assembling our very best agents to assist you, Harry. You won’t be alone.”

“What do I do?” I asked.

Shaklebolt smiled at me. “You have done a great thing for us already, Darwin. You risked your own life and safety for this cause, but now, you will need to step back and let Harry do his job. I cannot allow you to be a part of this operation. Only seasoned Aurors and trained agents will be allowed to assist Harry.”

That hurt. I knew Shaklebolt was right, of course, but I was really disappointed.

“What about Snape? Won’t he need me there as his owl? What if you need to send a message somewhere? What if you need to communicate with a Healer or with the Minister here?” I asked. I would do almost anything to be a part of this. There was no way I was going to miss out if I could possibly manage it.

“He has a point,” Harry said. “And because he’s an Animagus, he can get back and forth a lot faster than a regular owl.”

Shaklebolt shook his head. “He is still an unqualified wizard. He’s too inexperienced for this sort of thing.”

“He already proved himself this whole week,” Harry insisted. “He deserves to take part in this.”

“He already took part,” Shaklebolt said. “He’s done what he needed to do. Darwin, please understand this. We couldn’t be at this point without you, but you really need to stay here.”

“I’m not asking to duel Death Eaters or anything,” I said, still pushing as hard as I could. “But I know I can help. I can even stay outside until you need me to come in and deliver a message. I’ll take my owl form so no one will be suspicious.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Arthur Weasley said.

“So do I,” Lupin echoed.

McGonagall frowned. “I can’t believe you, wanting to send a boy into a place like that.”

“I’m older than Harry,” I reminded her. “And I’ve been in that place for days now.”

She sighed heavily. “That’s not the point.”

“Like I said,” I insisted, “I’ll stay out of the way until I’m needed. I swear, I won’t interfere, and I won’t cause trouble.”

Shaklebolt scowled. He looked at Harry. “It’s your call, Harry. Do you want him there?”

“Under those conditions, then yes,” he replied.

YES!!! I was so excited! I got to fly into the most deadly battle in wizarding history and see it firsthand! What was I thinking? It had to be a guy thing, because no reasonable person would ever purposely put themselves into a situation like that, and then be happy about it. In that regard, wizards are no different from muggles.

More planning, more plotting. Everyone got their assignments, including me. I was in charge of keeping an eye on Harry and on Snape and coming to their aid if and when they should need me. I would return to You-Know-Who’s house straight away and be there, still as Snape’s owl, before everyone else arrived for battle. I would, in fact, give the signal for the battle to begin. That sounded just fine to me. But just before I transformed back to an owl, Tonks stopped me.

“I have a message for you from Hermione,” she said.

I had a feeling it was about that kiss. I shuddered with remorse. “Oh. What’s up with Hermione?” I asked casually.

“She wanted you to know that Padma gave Terry the boot.”

I thought I would pass out from shock and joy. “Are…are you…is she serious?” I asked, barely able to contain myself.

Tonks smiled and nodded. We both laughed. I gave her a little hug in gratitude.

“Thank you for that,” I said. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in weeks!”

“Go on,” she replied. “The Death Eaters are waiting for you.”

With news that Padma was single once again, my return to the Death Eaters was one of the happiest moments of my life. Ironic, isn’t it? Here I was, facing possible death and the destruction of our world, and all I could do was hum happy songs and make plans to reunite with Padma. Life was sweet. It had to be. I wouldn’t let it be any other way.

When I returned to the house, most Death Eaters had already arrived for the night’s summit meeting. Greyback and his fellow werewolves were present—fortunately, the moon wasn’t full. Snape looked a bit paler than usual. I supposed he knew this could possibly be the last night of his life. I wondered if he prayed. Then again, this could possibly be the last night of my life, too, and Harry’s, and everyone else’s.

I perched at Snape’s side, looking and listening carefully, being sure to keep my mind tightly shut. You-Know-Who was finalising the destruction of the entire London Tube system. It sounded truly horrible, considering that he ordered the action to be taken during the evening rush hour, when the Tube would be packed with commuters. Then, a discussion arose about poisoning the muggles’ water supply throughout the nation. A wave of nausea tore through me, but I stayed strong, my mind still shut. The main thing I was listening for was the clock—once it rang midnight, I was to fly up to the windows and use magic to open all the windows in the room, then dart out where I would hide in the black tree next to the house. Very simple.

Sure enough, the clock tolled twelve midnight. It gonged once, twice, three times…on the seventh gong, I took off, up and up and up. There was the window. Using magic, I worked the incantation…why wouldn’t it open? What was up with these windows? I did it again, more intensely this time. The window wouldn’t budge. What was going on? I knew I was doing the spell right, but someone had probably charmed the window shut. Dammit! What do I do?

I squawked nice and loud, hoping that was a good idea. I really had no idea. But then…

“Severus, your bird is making a terrible racket,” You-Know-Who said, annoyed. “Let him out.”

Snape flicked his wand to let all the windows open. I flew out as quickly as I could and hid myself, wondering what his explanation would be to You-Know-Who about opening all the windows, not just one. I didn’t want to hear it. I was too rattled at this point. I sat on my high branch and hunkered down as low as I could.

I could hear everything. The sounds of crashing, blasting, shouting and shrieking as Harry led his army into battle. I didn’t dare look inside, not wanting to risk my position and everyone else’s safety. I knew that people were dying in there, getting battered and bruised and smashed by the force of the magic all around. The force of the battle was so intense I thought the house might shake to the ground or explode or both. I thought the ground might open up and swallow up the whole place, or that the skies might tear open and send pounding, flooding torrents of rain. On and on the battle went, seemingly for hours, the fighting inside vicious and bloody.

And then, a strange silence hung in the night air. At first, I could see no light coming from inside the house, but then, a creepy blue glow emerged—I trembled. I could hear lots of hissing going on, as if a bunch of snakes had suddenly converged on the place and were sounding off together. And then, one echoing the other in rapid fire:

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Then I heard a grunt and a hollow thud, then another. And then, silence once again. Stillness reigned. My blood ran cold.

* * * * *

“Darwin!”

A voice called out from the distance. A male voice.

“Darwin!”

A friendly voice. It had to be. The Death Eaters had no idea who I was. I flew off the branch and in the open window. I landed at Snape’s side and transformed into myself. All I could do was gasp in horror at the chaos around me. Everywhere around me lay both Death Eaters and Aurors in various states of injury. I had no idea who was alive or dead at this point. The room looked as if a bomb had exploded. All those chairs, the table, all in splinters. Every wall had gaping holes, and a small fire crackled in one far corner, lapping at the dark red curtains. The ceiling was partially caved in near the fireplace at the opposite end of the long room.

“My gods,” I breathed, unable to say much else, unsure where to look first. The destruction was colossal and horrific. Where would one begin to sift through the wreckage to look for survivors?

Tonks lay near the door, barely conscious, groaning a little. She had a large gash across her forehead and it looked as if someone had punched her in the jaw. Moody lay near her, not moving. His magic eyeball had skidded away, no doubt buried under the rubble. Next to him lay Harry, also not moving. Unlike everyone else in the room, he seemed entirely unscathed, except for the fact that he was unconscious. My father was slumped against a wall, a trickle of blood snaking down his chin. 

At his feet, splayed out horribly, lay You-Know-Who…dead. A blank expression covered his hideous face, his eyes staring out at nothing at all. It must have come as a real shock to him that Harry could actually finish him off. I’m not saying that because I felt sorry for him—this was a man who was entirely undone by his own, supreme arrogance. It was over.

I looked to Snape, my mind filled with too many questions.

Snape turned to me, his tear-stained face grave and serious. His arms were cut and bleeding—I noticed a slash across the Dark Mark on his left forearm. Snape’s long nose was broken and bloody. “Your father is injured, but alive. There is an entire detachment of Healers waiting at St. Mungo’s for you to bring them here. Tell them we have four dead and thirty-one injured. Tell them also that Mr. Potter was hit by the Avada Kedavra curse.”

“Oh no!” I cried in a total panic. “Is he…”

“It mostly missed him, but the edge of the curse grazed the side of his head. He will need special attention.”

“Where’s Shaklebolt?”

“Lifting the charms from this property. There’s a lot to do here. Molly and some of the Aurors are rounding up Death Eaters in the library and the study. Disapparate now and be back in five minutes! I need to see to everything here,” he urged. “Go!”

I did exactly as I was told, and in no time, all the injured on both sides of the fight were being treated. More Aurors arrived to help arrest all the surviving Death Eaters, of which there were many, including my father, Bellatrix and Greyback. I also told them about Pettigrew, still in his cage down in the basement.

“You should have just left him there,” Snape said dryly. He was serious.

“I can’t do that, sir. He would have died!”

Snape raised an eyebrow and grunted.

“Is everyone going to be alright?” I asked.

Snape just shook his head. “I believe it’s too early to know,” he finally said. “We will have to leave that to the Healers to sort out.”

“What about Harry?”

“Mr. Potter has a way of worming his way out of even the very worst situations,” Snape said gruffly. “Thank the gods.”

Just then, I turned to see a team of Aurors leading my revived, heavily chained and indignant father toward the door. He struggled against them bravely—it was all for show, of course. There was no way he could possibly escape. But that Malfoy pride just wouldn’t allow him to go quietly. Snape placed a hand on my shoulder, indicating for me to stay put. Staying put was out of the question.

I approached cautiously, unsure of what he would do. I hadn’t been this close to my father since my first year at Hogwarts, and as I stood so close to him, I felt a surge of mixed emotions, at once curious and repulsed and…I don’t know. It was weird. We were so alike and so different all at once. He gave me this look of recognition, and for a moment, I thought he might actually say something to me—even just a hello. 

“You have my eyes,” he muttered. But then, his features went cold, and he turned away, walking off with his captors. I just stood there and watched him go. Snape stood behind me, looking cross and surly. He gave me a rough pat on the shoulder.

“Bastard,” he grumbled. “You’re better off without him, Smith.”

With that, he went to check on a slowly reviving Remus Lupin. I watched him curiously for a moment, then turned my attention to the Healers working on Harry. He looked so peaceful lying there, eyes placidly shut, no doubt dreaming about Quidditch. Suddenly, I needed some air.

Outside, the cold night air hit me hard and sweet. It felt so good, so stimulating. Everything was over. Everything. No more hiding, no more secrets. No more Lucius. I could be myself again, without reference to anyone else, no longer having to look over my shoulder for someone who might want to exploit me through my mother’s memory.

I sat down in the dirt and cried.

* * * * *

McGonagall had a plan, but I wasn’t so sure it was such a good idea.

“Nonsense,” she said. “It will be an unforgettable moment!”

Well, if she insisted…

The Great Hall was all prepared for the return of the Great Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world. Flitwick, Hagrid and Madame Sprout had created spectacular decorations, complete with glittering garlands and glowing white faeries imported from Austria for the occasion. The House Elves had prepared a magnificent feast of roast beef, chicken, lamb, vegetables, and the best sweets in the entire world.

I flew around the Great Hall as everyone sauntered in, excited by the smell of the good food and by all the festivities planned for the night, including a dance to welcome Harry back to us and to thank him for everything he did. I spotted Padma the moment she walked in, arm in arm with Parvati, who apparently was still with Seamus. Hermione was there with Ron—I could tell they had reconciled. That was a relief. I spotted Neville…what? Arm in arm with…Luna? That was curious. I’d have to ask him about that one.

At the Staff table sat the Minister, Kingsley Shaklebolt and a restored and healthy Harry Potter, who looked happier than I had ever seen him before. He sat between Hagrid and Shaklebolt, talking animatedly. I noticed something queer about him, though—that scar he’d had since he was first attacked by You-Kno-…OK, I’ll say the name…Lord…Lord Voldemort, was gone. I was sure Snape would have an explanation for that, but naturally, he was not present at the table. No Draco either. I never expected that they would return, but it would have been nice. Scrimgeour exonerated both of them after the proverbial dust had settled, but a return to Hogwarts, the Wizengamot concluded, was out of the question. I did all I could to get them to change their minds, but to my amazement, it was Draco himself who told me to shut up and mind my own damn business. Stupid Malfoy. At any rate, once everyone was seated in the Great Hall and quieted down, McGonagall stood up to give her speech.

“As we begin this last term of the school year,” she began, “we also begin a new life as witches and wizards. Lord Voldemort is dead!”

Everyone cheered and screamed and applauded wildly.

“There are many people to thank for this outstanding achievement, some of whom are sitting in this very room,” she said, indicating the guests at the Staff table. “Kingsley Shaklebolt is responsible for orchestrating the attack on Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and we all should be extremely grateful to him for his courage and his brilliant leadership.”

More applause, more cheering as Shaklebolt stood up to take a modest bow.

“And course, our guest of honour, Harry…”

But she was drowned out by thunderous applause, cheering, shouting, and banging of plates, silverware, cups on the table. Everyone was on their feet, jumping wildly, hugging each other, singing the Hogwarts Alma Mater as loudly as they could until finally, Harry himself got them to quiet down. He and McGonagall laughed. I sat on my perch, waiting…

Finally, after long and tearful speeches from Shaklebolt, Harry and the Minister, McGonagall stood up and quieted everyone down.

“Finally, before we eat, I wish to announce the return of another student, someone who has been away from us for a little while,” she said. Mumbling erupted, until she quieted them again. I know they were expecting Malfoy. Well actually, a Malfoy did return—just not the one they assumed. “There have been some terrible lies written about him these last several months in _The Daily Prophet_ , and I am here to say that none of them are true. So please join me in welcoming him back.”

That was my big cue. I flew up from the perch, circled around the Great Hall over the students’ heads, brushing past the top of Terry Boot’s head, for old time’s sake—I left him alone, I swear!—and finally landed on the step next to McGonagall, where I transformed into myself. Everyone gasped. The students exploded into shouts of disbelief—plus, most of them had never seen an Animagus transform like that. It was pretty cool.

Neville jumped up from his seat. “DARWIN!!!” he cried out. He ran forward, not caring who saw, throwing himself into my arms. We laughed and cried and hugged. Neville looked me over, barely believing what he saw. “I can’t believe it’s you! You’re OK, right?”

“I’m fine!” I laughed.

“You’re…you’re an owl!” he babbled.

“I know!”

“I thought you were dead or evil or something!” he said, crying again.

McGonagall stepped in to quiet everyone down once again. She was just about to shuttle me off to the Ravenclaw table when Harry stood up and came forward. Everyone stopped to listen. I had a terrible feeling he was about to say something nice. Damn.

“Everyone here, myself included, owes a huge debt of gratitude for what Darwin did for us,” he said to the students. “Along with Professor Snape, who also displayed great courage in this final battle, Darwin and his brother provided me and the Aurors with the information we needed to bring down Lord Voldemort once and for all. If Darwin hadn’t spied for us, at great personal risk, we would not be having this celebration. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Darwin, a lot of us might be dead right now, including me. He and Professor Snape saved our lives.” And then he stepped back and applauded me.

Slowly first, and then collectively, the students and staff stood up and applauded along with Harry. I looked out at the happy, smiling faces, and I didn’t know what to do or how to react. Nothing in my life prepared me for anything like this. I was used to being kicked aside and disregarded and insulted, not lauded like some sort of hero. I sort of waved stupidly, half-bowed, which felt really awkward, and then, my face bright red and my heart pounding, I followed Neville back to the student tables.

“Here, Darwin,” someone called from the Ravenclaw table, “sit here!” A space opened up at the table…right next to Padma. She looked at me with tear-filled eyes and smiled.

I sat. It felt really good and really awkward simultaneously, as if I hadn’t been here for years and years. 

“Hi,” I said to her. Terry scowled at me.

“You look well,” she said, searching my face.

“So do you.” OK, that was lame.

“I can’t believe you’ve been here all this time,” she said. “You must have been so lonely, having to hide like that.”

I glanced quickly at Terry, who still scowled, then back at Padma, who had tears in her eyes. I leaned close and, hesitating at first, gave her a kiss. I had no idea how she would react to this. She might slap my face and throw me to the Giant Squid, or…she kissed me back. I really wanted to cry right then and there, but there were way too many guys around—I’d never hear the end of it, I assure you. Padma pulled me close and let me hold her—that is, until dinner was finally served.

As we all ate our dinner, I told everyone stories about my adventures these last few months. I told them about Malfoy Manor, about Lord Voldemort’s house, about the Death Eaters, about Snape and Draco and Harry. I left out the part about that kiss with Hermione. I also left out the part about the Aquarium.

I wanted to share that with Padma. Alone. Tonight.

After we ate our fill and danced the night away, the hour grew late and we all got pretty tired. Dancing with Padma was a dream come true, and I didn’t care too much that Terry Boot was snarling at me half the night, no doubt remembering the…uh…“owl treats” I gave him. What did that matter any more? I had my girl back.

Everyone slowly returned to their Houses, ready for a good night’s sleep. Hand in hand, Padma made our way along with everyone else, but then, as we approached the corridor which I knew lead down and through and around to the Aquarium, I pulled Padma aside, confident we were unseen by the Prefects.

“Come on,” I whispered to her. “I know a place.”

And so we went our way, together again. After so many long months apart, there was so much to say, so many feelings to express, so many kisses and caresses…but that’s OK. We had all night. We had forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading Darwin's story! I'd love to hear from you, so let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!


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